And so we will find out, sooner or later, just how far the king is prepared to compromise, Peter thought. Somehow he doubted the king would be willing to do anything of the sort. He’d staked too much of his personal prestige on the bill. He wouldn’t give up easily. And just how far we might have to go to stop him?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
* * *
TYRE
“I trust this room is secure?”
“My staff swept it personally,” Peter said. “And so did the others.”
He accepted a glass of brandy from one of the servitors and sat back in his chair, sipping it gratefully. His body had been extensively modified while he’d been in the exowomb, with dozens of genetic improvements spliced into his DNA, but he still had a pounding headache after spending hours in the Houses of Parliament. He’d wondered, when he was younger, why his father preferred backroom deals to open politics; now he thought he understood all too well. The matter might have been settled in an afternoon if everyone hadn’t wanted to have their say. The less formal power they wielded, the more verbose they seemed to be.
But that isn’t too surprising, Peter thought wryly. They cannot force us to do as they wish, so they have to convince us.
He wasn’t too surprised that Israel Harrison had called for a meeting after Parliament had recessed for the day, or that a simple one-on-one meeting had mushroomed into a larger gathering. Three dukes, a handful of Opposition MPs, and a couple of political researchers . . . it was more of a planning session than anything else, but a planning session for what? He couldn’t help feeling like a member of a revolutionary cabal plotting an uprising. The combination of political and economic power was enough to make even the king sit up and take notice, although he might be able to put together a coalition that would be strong enough to counter the Opposition. And yet, that would mean abandoning his spending plans, probably throwing Arthur Hampshire under the aircar, and committing himself to supporting his new allies. Peter doubted that would sit well with the king.
“I think we’re all eager to get home to bed,” he said after taking another sip of his expensive brandy. His body was engineered for alcohol tolerance, even though there were days when he wished he could get good and drunk. There were other ways to forget the world for a while, if he wished. But then he’d seen people who used electric stimulation to pleasure themselves. They eventually gave up on the real world. “Shall we move right to the point?”
“The king’s spending bill is unacceptable,” Harrison said. “And it is quite beyond any suitable modification.”
“He’s bursting out of his britches,” Duke Rudbek snapped. “That bill is . . . outrageous.”
“His father would certainly never have tried to force us to lend our assent to . . . to something that would ruin us,” Duchess Zangaria agreed. “How many of us can really afford to keep paying wartime taxes?”
“We would certainly be better off not paying them,” Peter said. “Falcone has been pushed to the limits over the last five years.”
He looked from one to the other, trying not to feel inferior. Duke Rudbek might be rude and crude, but there was a sharp mind behind his flabby face, while Duchess Zangaria had always made him nervous. She was old enough to be his grandmother, yet she ruled her corporation with a rod of iron. She’d certainly never shown any signs of losing her grip, even as her heirs grew increasingly impatient for real power. Peter knew, all too well, that he didn’t enjoy anywhere near as much support from his family. Too many of his relatives wanted to build their own power bases now that their former leader was dead.
At least they’re not plotting to knife me in the back, he thought. Not yet anyway.
“He’s a young man,” Duchess Zangaria said. “Young and foolish and determined to make his mark on the galaxy.”
“Then let him fund his plans from the Royal Corporation,” Duke Rudbek sneered.
Janet Brisket leaned forward. “Can he hope to fund his plans from the Royal Corporation?”
“Not unless he’s found a whole new way of making money,” Peter said. The Royal Corporation was large, and it had guaranteed contracts from the government, but it wasn’t that large. There was no way the king could fund everything he wanted from the corporation’s revenues, even if he funneled all the profits into the budget. “The trustees would lynch him if he tried.”
“Sounds like a reasonable solution,” Duke Rudbek muttered.
Harrison cleared his throat. “What are the odds of the bill being passed?”
A brown-haired young woman, sitting at the far end of the table, looked up nervously. Peter felt a flicker of droll understanding, and sympathy. The poor girl would be highly qualified in her field, of course, but nothing could have prepared her for attending a meeting with so many high-ranking people. She simply lacked the power to make her voice heard easily.
Except she’s one of the best political analysts in the world, he thought, pulling up her file on his datapad. The woman, Pamela Collins, had a distinguished record of making accurate political predictions. He couldn’t help wondering why she’d signed up with Israel Harrison and the Opposition. A record like that could have led her to far greater heights. Maybe she believes in their cause.
Pamela coughed. “On the face of it, the bill has very little chance of being accepted in toto,” she said. “The taxation issue alone will not find favor with anyone, save perhaps for MPs who believe that the big corporations will be the ones paying the tax. They will argue, and they will have a point, that the general public will not be paying anything directly. However, the indirect effects—corporations cutting back, job losses, and suchlike—will have a major impact on their constituents. The smarter MPs will not want to be in a position where they can be blamed for a sudden increase in unemployment.”
“Except unemployed people can’t vote,” Duke Rudbek said.
Pamela colored and looked down. “That is not wholly accurate, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “It is true that the franchise is purchased by the Voting Tax, but there is a fixed amount that unemployed people can pay if they wish to retain their vote. Even if they do not, they will still have the vote until they fail to pay the tax at the start of the next tax year. There will be a period, around six to nine months, when a considerable number of newly unemployed people will have the vote. And yes, they may retain it during the next tax year.”
“And they will be demanding recall elections if their MPs let them down,” Harrison said. “What will that do to our politics?”
“It will make them more poisonous,” Pamela said. “The unemployed, and desperate, will demand concessions the MPs will be quite unable to grant.”
She took a breath, then went on. “That said, the king may be able to make deals with a number of people in both Houses of Parliament. There are people who will benefit from the bill, and he can count on their support—or trade horses with them until they agree to support it. At that point . . . we’ll be in uncharted waters.”
“And we have to decide how far we’re prepared to go to resist,” Duchess Zangaria commented. “Can he tax us without our consent?”
“He can certainly find ways to pressure us,” Peter pointed out. “The orbital towers are controlled by the government, for example, along with the StarComs. He can use them as leverage to make us submit.”
“Which would spark off a real crisis,” Janet Brisket said. “Do we have any reason to believe he’s prepared to go so far?”
Harrison looked at Pamela, who winced. “His opening speech did not admit of much, if any, maneuvering room,” she said. “He effectively backed himself into a corner. There are few concessions he could offer without looking as though he’s climbing down. It would have been better to keep the speech purposefully vague and handle the negotiations in private.”
Brilliant, Peter thought sarcastically. The king can’t back down.
“Either he’s a political imbecile or a lunatic who thinks he can push the matter as far as necessary,” Harrison sta
ted. “Or he could easily be both.”
“Very well,” Duchess Zangaria said. “What do we do about it? How many of us will support the bill?”
Janet made a face. “About a third of the commons will support the king, even after the reality of the situation dawns on them.” Her voice was very cold. “They are linked to the king’s patronage network. Another third could probably be talked into providing support, in exchange for later concessions. At worst . . . the king might be able to muster enough votes to get it through the House of Commons.”
“And yet, they’d have to get it through the House of Lords,” Duke Rudbek pointed out. “We could invoke the Ducal Veto.”
“We’d have to get all thirteen dukes to agree,” Peter pointed out.
“They all stand to lose,” Duchess Zangaria said. “They have no reason to support the bill.”
Peter frowned. The king knew that . . . surely. He’d probably be getting chapter and verse from the Royal Trustees about the political and financial realities soon enough, if he hadn’t heard them out already. He had to know the House of Lords would kill his bill. It made no sense.
Unless he wants to blame us for his failure, Peter thought. But . . . what would it get him?
A nasty thought struck him. “Does anyone know which way Cavendish will jump?”
Harrison sucked in his breath. “Shit!”
“The king could offer the Cavendish Corporation a loan to keep the corporation afloat long enough for them to restructure,” Pamela said slowly. “They’d have great difficulty in meeting their obligations, even if the best-case scenario is true, but they’d survive. The king could make sure they get enough contracts to stave off a complete collapse. And . . . if that is the case, Duke Cavendish will not join the Ducal Veto.”
“Which will ensure that we can’t veto the bill,” Peter finished. He glanced at Rudbek. “If we can’t veto, can we still kill the bill?”
“Perhaps,” Rudbek said. “But the king does have his supporters in the House of Lords too.”
Peter gritted his teeth in frustration. The king would have problems getting the bill through the House of Lords, but it wasn’t impossible. Peter could easily imagine the king horse trading like mad, making deal after deal until even he couldn’t remember just how many promises he’d actually made. It would all catch up with him very quickly—patrons who forgot to reward their clients tended to have their clients looking for support from more generous patrons—but Peter suspected the king was past caring. If he was determined to force the bill through, he’d make whatever deals he had to make and worry about keeping them later.
“Perhaps it is time to consider the nuclear option,” Duchess Zangaria said. “We impeach him.”
“That would be tricky,” Harrison said. “We could challenge him openly and demand a vote of confidence, but . . . we might well lose. Not everyone in the Lords would be comfortable with demanding impeachment because of a bill that hasn’t even been passed!”
That, Peter admitted sourly, was true. The House of Lords included a number of people who’d won a peerage through sheer merit, but the vast majority of Lords were hereditary aristocrats. They might not like the king, and they might not grant him their automatic support . . . yet they’d be opposed to anything that challenged their power. An opposition that brought down the single most powerful man on Tyre would have no difficulties in dealing with a mere earl or knight. The aristocracy wouldn’t want such a precedent to be set without very solid cause. Someone who didn’t run a vast corporation might not agree that such cause existed.
“So,” Duke Rudbek said, “what do we do?”
“Perhaps we could find a compromise,” Janet said. “If we agreed to fund some of his programs—the naval patrols in the occupied territories perhaps—he might agree to drop the others.”
“Except the commitment is likely to keep draining our resources,” Harrison growled. “We should cut it completely.”
Duke Rudbek eyed Peter. “What does your sister say about all this? Does she even know?”
“She hasn’t expressed an opinion to me,” Peter said crossly. “I intend to discuss the matter with her once we have decided on a response.”
He scowled at the table. It was hard to hide just how irritated he was. Kat was going to find herself in an invidious position. If she’d thought to ask him, as her superior, before she’d accepted the seat on the Privy Council . . . He sighed. Their father had neglected her political training. She should have realized that the seat would trap her between two masters. Technically, he should order her to choose between the Privy Council and the family; practically, he rather feared he knew how she’d respond. Kat had never allowed her older brother to dictate to her when she’d been a child.
And she might not even know what’s happened, he thought. Did the king tell her?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The king’s Privy Council included quite a few people who should have known just how many people would resist the wretched taxation and spending bill. Kat was no political authority, but . . . Peter wondered, sourly, if the king had thought to ask for advice from anyone. It would be interesting to see how many privy councilors resigned over the matter. He wasn’t precisely obliged to consult his councilors, but it was generally accepted that he should.
“We need to build up a solid resistance to the bill,” Harrison said. “If nothing else, we merely need to mobilize one-third of the MPs and Lords against it.”
“And we should at least try to find a compromise,” Janet said.
Harrison’s voice hardened. “And if one boy steals a bag of sweets from another, would you advocate that they compromise by sharing the sweets?”
He ground on before she could answer. “We agreed to the wartime taxation because it was better than the alternative. Everything we loved would have been destroyed if the Theocrats had won the damned war. We preferred to spend millions of crowns on defense instead of offering one teeny tiny crown for tribute. But now the war is over. The king has no damn right to claim so much from us, nor does he have any right to dictate to us. He has shown he has no interest in anything we might recognize as a compromise. His actions indicate either stupidity or malice. And the more we agree to . . . humor him, the more he will demand.”
His eyes swept the room. “His demands will ruin us. You all know that to be true. We cannot allow him to force them on us. We must resist him now, doing everything in our power to curb his ambitions, or, when we finally try to resist him, we will find the task far harder.”
“Fight now or fight later, when he is stronger and we are weaker,” Duke Rudbek said.
“A political fight could disrupt the government,” Janet pointed out. “Or worse.”
Peter kept his thoughts to himself as the argument raged back and forth. In truth, he wasn’t sure which way to jump. The budget had to be resisted—on that, he agreed with Harrison—but how far were they prepared to go? He keyed his datapad, sending a series of messages to his staff. By now, news of the proposed taxation and spending bill would have already hit the datanet. Masterly and Masterly would have a write-up for him by the time he returned home.
“We need to find ways to bring pressure to bear on him,” Harrison said. “Whatever it takes, we must do it.”
Or try to find ways to talk him down, Peter thought. It was a shame the king’s father hadn’t lived longer. Peter’s father wouldn’t have let him make such a public mistake. There’s no way he can back down easily.
He sighed, understanding, once again, why his father had preferred backroom dealing to public politics. The former allowed the participants more room to maneuver or back away without making utter asses of themselves. If the king had been someone else, a political rival perhaps, Peter would have enjoyed watching him make an unforced mistake that would haunt him for years. But now, the stakes were too high for such indulgences. He . . . they . . . needed to find a way to help the king save face. He just didn’t know how.
“We also need to cons
ider the worst-case scenario,” Duke Rudbek said. “What happens if he refuses to go quietly?”
“Or tries to use the military against us,” Duchess Zangaria agreed. “He’s been putting his own people in command slots.”
Peter shuddered. Technically, the military was under the king’s direct command; practically, the military council issued the orders. But too many things had changed over the last four years. It was astonishing how much could be done during a state of emergency. He had a nasty feeling that his intelligence agents hadn’t ferreted out anything like the whole story.
He suddenly had difficulty speaking. “You don’t think he’d . . . he’d turn on us?”
“Let us hope not,” Rudbek said. “His father would never even have considered it.”
“Then we tighten our grip on the planetary defenses,” Peter said. That, at least, was under Parliament’s direct control. “And . . . and we start resisting his attempts to gain control of the military.”
“Which may make matters worse,” Janet pointed out.
“He’s gone too far to back down easily,” Rudbek snapped. “I think we must start making plans for the worst.”
And hope that we never need to implement them, Peter thought. Because if we do start shooting at each other, where will it stop?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
* * *
UNCHARTED STAR SYSTEM
It had been dangerous—it was still dangerous—to show one’s innermost feelings in the Theocracy. A hint of fear or resentment or hatred was often enough to have one reported to the clerics for unbelief, which resulted in a cleansing session that supposedly purified one’s soul. Admiral Zaskar could never have risen in the ranks without being skilled at hiding his true thoughts and feelings, even now. Showing doubt or weakness could easily get him killed.
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 16