They couldn’t hope to survive an engagement with real superdreadnoughts, he thought. But they’d realize they were being tricked the moment the superdreadnoughts failed to open fire.
“Captain!” Patti said. “They’re powering up their vortex generators.”
William glanced at the display, then took the plunge. “Pass tactical command to Captain Young,” he ordered. “And prepare to take us into hyperspace.”
“Aye, Captain,” Patti said. On the display, the enemy ships were turning away, moving with a stately elegance that belied their speed. “They’re opening vortexes now.”
“Take us into hyperspace,” William ordered. “Rig the ship for silent running.”
Dandelion shuddered as she opened a vortex and slid into hyperspace. The enemy ships were clearly visible on the display, already heading away from Asher Dales as fast as they could. They didn’t seem to have realized that they were being followed, although William knew they could merely be pretending to ignore him. They might well want to lure Dandelion into a trap.
And hyperspace makes it easy to ambush someone, William reminded himself. Experienced spacers knew better than to take anything for granted in the maelstrom. Or even to make their lives miserable by triggering an energy storm.
“Silent running engaged, sir,” Patti said. “Your orders?”
“Hold us at extreme range, but maintain the sensor lock,” William said. The enemy CO had clearly panicked. He’d had options when the fake superdreadnoughts had shown up, but he’d chosen to break off the engagement and run. There was a chance, a good chance, that he’d fly straight back to his base. “And prepare to follow them out of hyperspace if they try to throw us off.”
“Aye, sir.”
Tanya caught his attention. “How long are we going to be away from home?”
“I don’t know,” William admitted. She didn’t sound pleased, but he’d given her the chance to take a shuttle back home, before the engagement broke out. “We could be away for days or weeks. But if we can shadow them back to their base, we can whistle up a fleet of real superdreadnoughts. And then we can put an end to this once and for all.”
He leaned back in his command chair, knowing it wouldn’t be easy. The enemy might have realized that they were being followed. Even if they hadn’t, they would be fools not to take some basic precautions as they approached their base. William had been taught to be very careful, even when heading to a location everyone knew. The enemy commander would presumably have been taught the same lesson.
And we would have caught them by now if they hadn’t, William thought. The Royal Navy had certainly tried to shadow the enemy ships as they returned to their base. This time, it’s going to have to be different.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
* * *
TYRE
As parties went, Peter thought, it was singularly depressing.
He was, as a Duke, expected to host at least one social gathering every two months and attend a number of others. It wasn’t a duty he enjoyed. On one hand, inviting the wrong person could cause all sorts of drama; on the other, failing to attend the right party or attending the wrong party could be seen as an insult. His sister Candy might enjoy selecting the guests, arranging entertainment, and all the other duties that came with being the host, but Peter hated it. He much preferred quiet backroom discussions to pretending to make pleasant, and meaningless, conversations with his guests.
But the parties do have their uses, he told himself. He swept through the chamber, exchanging brief formalities with the guests. They give us a chance to gather everyone together without looking suspicious.
He winced inwardly as he caught the eye of a society dame who was already well on the way to drinking herself silly. The dress she wore was designed to draw the eye to her cleavage without quite revealing everything she had. But then, she had nothing else. Her family had cut her allowance years ago, even before the financial crisis had hit. She made a living by seducing someone, letting him take care of her for a while, then moving on to her next victim. Peter would have felt sorry for her if she hadn’t tried to seduce him in front of his father and wife.
And we probably shouldn’t have invited her, he thought tiredly. Every family had someone who was too wellborn to cut out completely, but too useless to actually do anything for the family. And yet we needed to make sure that the guest list was as wide as possible.
He turned slowly, surveying the room. Hundreds of guests, wearing a mixture of suits, dresses, and fancy costumes, were crowding around the buffet tables, slowly dancing on the marble floor, or splashing around in the pool at the far end of the room. Men and women with power, flanked by their dates . . . the latter doing everything in their power to make themselves look important, because their patrons were important. They should have looked happy—Peter and his sister had gone to some trouble to make the affair sparkle—but there was an air of despondency that pervaded the entire gathering. The older guests, the ones with true power, looked bowed down by some immense weight, while the younger ones were desperately trying to cheer themselves up. He caught sight of a young man swimming naked in the pool, followed by a handful of young women, and winced at the sight. Everyone was trying to convince themselves that nothing was wrong . . .
The butler materialized beside him. “Sir, the select group has been guided to the meeting room,” he said. “They’re waiting for you now.”
“Good,” Peter said. He didn’t bother to hide his relief. The party was starting to look and feel like a wake. “Make sure that none of the other guests go wandering.”
He strode across the room, passing a handful of young men and women sitting by the pool. A couple of them were junior aristocrats, trying to shock their betters, but others were nothing more than groupies, trying to carve out a place for themselves in the aristocratic world. They looked fresh and pretty and carefree—they were trying to pretend that they belonged—but the effect was ruined by their constant glances at their social betters for approval. Peter felt a stab of sympathy, knowing that most of them would not enjoy their time in High Society. They’d certainly never enjoy the security of someone born to the aristocracy.
The sound of people trying to be happy cut off abruptly as he passed through a secure door, which closed firmly behind him. Peter allowed himself a moment of relief—he’d never had time to just relax and enjoy himself at parties—and then kept walking until he reached the conference room. The king would have observers at the party, he was sure, but they’d have great difficulty in telling just who had and who hadn’t been invited to the meeting. It wasn’t uncommon for an aristocrat to find a bright young thing and take them to bed. Or for someone to just sneak off early.
He stepped into the conference room and looked around. The space was crammed with political and economic power. Ten of the fourteen dukes, along with a dozen other aristocrats who represented financial and corporate interests; the Leader of the Opposition and his closest allies; a pair of media moguls; and even a handful of military men. Peter’s gaze swept the room, silently gauging their mood. United, Parliament could bring the king to heel; disunited, the king could play divide and conquer to his heart’s content.
The door closed. “This room is secure,” Peter said bluntly. The guests had insisted on checking the security arrangements for themselves. Given what was at stake, Peter didn’t blame them. “We can talk freely.”
“The king is no longer in his right mind,” Duke Rudbek said. He wore a suit that had been out of fashion for longer than Peter had been alive, but his eyes were sharp and his voice was clear. “This latest attempt to spy on us is a step too far.”
“To say nothing of his attempts to undermine the compromise,” Duchess Zangaria said. “He promised much, but gave little.”
“A trick made easier by your actions,” Duke Tolliver pointed out. He looked young, but his eyes were old. “You did everything in your power to ensure that the money would be given to your corporation.”
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p; “So did you,” Duchess Zangaria countered.
“I know,” Duke Tolliver said evenly. “Let us be brutally honest. We all saw advantage in manipulating affairs to suit ourselves as individuals, rather than as a group. And we have paid a steep price.”
Peter nodded, stiffly. There had been no intention of simply giving the money to the liberated worlds. That would have been a bad idea. Instead, the money had been earmarked to pay for goods and services from the corporations. It would benefit the liberated worlds, eventually, but it would also benefit the corporations, making it harder for them to oppose the king. He wondered, grimly, if it had been deliberate. The king might have counted on the corporations allowing the money to divide them.
Or he might just have had a contingency plan for both possibilities, he thought. The king didn’t lack for either courage or cunning. We cannot afford to overestimate him any more than we can afford to underestimate him.
“We need to move, now,” Peter said. “Can we introduce a Bill of Impeachment?”
Israel Harrison cleared his throat. “We could,” he said. “But the problem would be getting it through the Houses of Parliament.”
“If all of us dukes worked together, it wouldn’t matter what the rest of the world thought,” Duke Rudbek growled. He glared at Peter. “Why weren’t the others invited?”
“Three of them have been playing their cards very close to their chests,” Peter said. “And Cavendish is . . . Cavendish is hoping the king can provide a miracle.”
“Which he can, if we give him free rein to spend money,” Duchess Zangaria said. “Without it, Cavendish is doomed.”
“That doesn’t give them much incentive to support us,” Duke Tolliver pointed out. He sounded more amused than anything else. “And if we happened to lose the vote, it could get very bad.”
Peter made a face. Israel Harrison would have to resign if he staked everything on an impeachment vote and lost. Even if he tried to hang on, his former allies would demand his immediate removal. Burning up every scrap of political capital they’d gathered over the years for nothing would not go down well with them. And while the dukes were more secure, anyone who pushed for impeachment and lost might be forced to resign too. The family council would not be amused if their duke alienated the king.
“The king has been amassing power for the last four years,” Peter said. Masterly and Masterly had run a comprehensive analysis. The king had gathered a lot of power to himself during the war, political and financial as well as military. No wonder he didn’t want to give it up. “I submit to you that it could get far worse if he reaches a position of unchallengeable power.”
“I understand your point,” Duchess Turin said. “How do you intend to proceed? Present the king with an ultimatum? Or simply rush into impeachment?”
“The former might be enough to get the king to back down,” Duke Tolliver said. “But it would also give him time to build a counter-coalition of his own.”
“And split us,” Duchess Zangaria added. “He has plenty of ways to convince struggling people to join him.”
“But pushing for an immediate vote could lead to disaster, if we lose,” Duke Tolliver said, coldly. “There is something to be said for giving him room to retreat.”
“He’s already had that chance,” Peter reminded him. “We were able to use the convoy disaster to give him a chance to back down, without losing too much face, but he turned that back against us. Our choice is between tolerating him, knowing that he may be planning to remove us as soon as possible, or removing him. Now. While we still can.”
Isabel Harley, MP for the North Dales, leaned forward. “Aren’t we being a little paranoid? We have no evidence the king intends to turn on us.”
“He’s amassing power,” Harrison reminded her. “And, sooner or later, he will need to make that power secure.”
“The balance of power has been smashed,” Peter added. “And we must either restore it or accept permanent subordination.”
“Or death,” Duke Rudbek muttered.
“Surely you can’t think he’d go that far,” Isabel protested.
“The king has vast resources,” Rudbek snapped. “He controls a significant chunk of the military, directly and indirectly. Countless men and women owe their careers and positions to him. And a lot of money was steered into black programs during the war. Where did that money go?” He took a long breath. “And then there’s the death of the former Duke Falcone,” he added, nodding to Peter. “The assassins who killed him were never caught.”
Peter sucked in his breath. “The official report concluded that they were Theocrats . . .”
“And yet, they were never caught,” Rudbek repeated, tapping the table. “Why didn’t they launch more attacks? Why didn’t they sell their lives dearly? Every infiltration cell fought to the death when it was discovered, but this one seems to have gone completely underground and vanished. That’s simply not possible in the long run.”
Perhaps, Peter thought. But Father and the king were working together.
He forced himself to think. It wasn’t possible to vanish on Tyre, not completely. Someone who lived deep in the countryside might be able to stay out of sight, but anyone who lived in one of the cities would leave an electronic trail for investigators to follow. The police and security services had gotten good at tracking people who might be enemy agents, simply by analyzing their progress through the system. And all the normal constitutional safeguards had been abolished during the war. The king could use the surveillance systems in ways their designers had never anticipated.
Rudbek was right, he conceded grimly. The assassins should not have been able to hide indefinitely. They’d have great difficulty even boarding a starship and fleeing the system before being caught. And even if they did have the skills to hide, Peter had to admit that it was atypical. The Theocrats had expected their infiltrators to do as much damage as possible before their inevitable deaths. There was no reason to expect them to remain in hiding now that the war was over.
“You can’t accuse the king of assassinating a duke,” Isabel protested. “Even if it was true, you’d need a lot of proof.”
Peter met Rudbek’s eyes. “Do you have any proof?”
“None,” Rudbek admitted. “But who actually benefits? The Theocracy? It was too late for the death of a single man to save them. Or the king, who used your father to rationalize our industries and, just incidentally, put a lot of his people in positions of power. Your father might well have known a great many things the king didn’t want to make public . . .”
“This is an absurd theory,” Peter spluttered. He didn’t want to think about the possibilities, even though he had no choice. “And we can’t even make it public without proof. We’d be laughed out of court.”
“I know,” Rudbek said. “But it’s a good example of why we need to act fast.”
“If, of course, the king actually ordered Duke Falcone killed,” Isabel pointed out. “We have nothing but a chain of inference. The onus would be on us to prove that the king gave the orders, and we couldn’t. Could we?”
“No,” Rudbek said. “We remove the king first, then we dissect everything. We work out where the money went, where it was spent, and what it bought; we open up the entire planetary security infrastructure and determine, if we can, if a black ops team was used to kill Duke Falcone. And then . . . we dismantle his infrastructure, return to the status quo ante bellum . . . and then, well, we find someone in line to the throne and give it to him or her.”
Isabel coughed. “And if the king is innocent?”
“He’s already abused his position,” Duke Rudbek said firmly. “We’ll pension him off, perhaps to a distant estate where he can spend the rest of his life.”
“We are putting the cart before the horse,” Peter said. “How do we build up a majority in Parliament?”
Duchess Zangaria snorted. “Cavendish is the sticking point,” she said. “The others will fold if they know we’re united.”
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br /> “Then we have to buy them out,” Peter said. Thankfully, Masterly and Masterly had worked out the figures for him. “We make them an immense long-term loan, funded by the remaining duchies. The deal will hurt us badly, but will keep them afloat.”
“It will not be easy to balance that payment with the austerity regime,” Duchess Zangaria said quietly. “My corporation is already laying off employees.”
“They won’t accept anything less,” Duke Tolliver said. “Even offering to purchase their facilities will be seen as insulting. They don’t want to end their careers as pensioners.”
We should be so lucky, Peter thought. If we all go bust, we’ll be lucky if we spend the rest of our lives begging in the gutter.
Harrison cleared his throat. “A united front, then?”
“If we can convince everyone to join us,” Duchess Zangaria said.
“We should also make preparations for a violent response,” Rudbek added glumly. “Does anyone believe we can keep our plans secret for a couple of months?”
“We must all hang together,” Isabel quoted, “or we will all hang separately.”
Peter couldn’t disagree. The king had plenty of informers. Everyone who was anyone had a network of informers, ranging from the trustworthy to men and women who’d sell their own grandparents if the money was right. Even if everyone in the room kept their mouths firmly shut, something would leak out when they started widening the conspiracy. The king would have a window of opportunity to do something before time ran out.
And if we don’t move fast, he’ll be able to rally the navy to his command, Peter thought. And who knows what will happen then?
“We tighten both our security and grip on the planetary defenses,” he said. “If we manage to impeach the king, we should be able to sever his ties to the navy.”
“His people are loyalists,” Duke Rudbek commented. “They’ll have to be removed as quickly as possible.”
“Which might be tricky,” Duchess Zangaria countered. “They might not take it calmly.”
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 32