“Keep me informed on progress,” he said. He studied Masterly and Masterly’s report for a long moment. Most of the money appeared to have been wasted, rather than put aside for selfish or malicious purposes, but it was hard to be sure. Just because he couldn’t see any long-term value in the pork projects didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t either. “Are there any other issues of concern?”
“Just one,” Alexander said. He sounded oddly hesitant. “As you know, Your Grace, we have been monitoring the long-term health of the corporation and its subsections.”
“I should know that,” Peter said, irritated. “I receive briefings every two days.”
Alexander nodded. “It’s not easy to monitor employee morale,” he said. “No one believes, for example, that anonymous surveys are truly anonymous. A person who is dissatisfied may well decline to put that to paper, for fear that it will be held against him at his next performance review. It may be illegal to fire someone for expressing an opinion, particularly an opinion they were asked to express, but there are plenty of ways to get rid of someone without technically breaking any laws.”
“I know,” Peter said. His father had told him, time and time again, that people would tell him what they thought he wanted to hear. Worse, they would conceal problems until they turned into disasters if they feared he would shoot the messenger. Bad news could not be allowed to fester, yet how could he deal with it if he didn’t know it existed? “And what’s happening?”
“Morale is going downhill sharply,” Alexander said. “There have been rumors of layoffs for months, Your Grace, but now they’ve actually started to materialize. People are worried that they’re going to be next, and that is having an obvious impact on their work. Productivity is falling too.”
“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” Peter said. “Or is there?”
He looked at his hands, helplessly. The hell of it was that there was no way to speed up the process and get it over with. He’d seriously considered making sweeping cuts, in the hopes it would be enough to allow him to preserve what was left, but the council had refused to even consider the option. They wanted to keep as much as they could. Peter understood the impulse, but he had a feeling it was making things worse. No employee could feel safe these days.
And we have too many other problems right now, he thought. What do we do?
“I don’t believe so,” Alexander said. “We do have some fairly precise estimates of how many cuts we’ll need to make . . .”
“Which isn’t politically feasible at the moment,” Peter said. He wondered, again, how his father had managed to balance running a corporation with his political work. Lucas Falcone had had a good staff, which Peter had inherited, but there were still too many things that demanded his personal input. “But I’ll take it back to the council . . .”
His terminal bleeped. “Your Grace,” Yasmeena said. “You have a secure call from Duke Rudbek.”
“Put him through,” Peter said, dismissing Alexander and Clive Masterly with a wave of his hand. “And then inform my next appointment that I may be delayed.”
Duke Rudbek’s image appeared on the terminal. “Peter, my boy,” he said in a jovial tone that had alarm bells ringing in Peter’s head. “Perhaps you’d do me the honor of joining me and a few guests for dinner? My chef has prepared a delicious repast of traditional food from Eulalie.”
Peter’s blood ran cold. Eulalie. They’d agreed that Eulalie would be the codeword for any urgent developments related to the king and the bill to impeach him. Duke Rudbek would not have used it unless the situation was truly urgent. And his attempt to be coy about saying the word, doing his best to work it into casual conversation, was worrying. He might have reason to believe the secure line was not secure.
And any listening ears will probably have no doubt that something significant has been said, Peter thought. It would be an insult to their intelligence to think otherwise.
“I’d be happy to attend,” he said for the benefit of any eavesdroppers. “Should I bring my wife and children?”
“It’s more of a casual dinner,” Duke Rudbek said. “We don’t want to be in all the society pages.”
“Merely the most important ones,” Peter said dryly. Taking his wife and children would suggest that the affair had actually been a highly exclusive party rather than a networking dinner. People would talk, particularly the people who felt insulted that they hadn’t been invited. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Five o’clock, please,” Duke Rudbek said. “And thank you.”
His image vanished. Peter stared at the display, feeling a chill creeping into his heart. Something had happened, clearly. Something had happened that had forced Duke Rudbek, a man who was in no way a coward, to skulk around like a common criminal.
Kat is lucky, he thought ruefully. She’s allowed to have friends.
He pushed the thought aside as he called Yasmeena, told her about the dinner appointment, and went back to work. The question of precisely what had happened nagged at his mind as he read report after report, chaired two committee meetings that went nowhere, and attended a session on training materials for the next generation of workers. He couldn’t help thinking that that was a little optimistic. Masterly and Masterly had been right. The corporation was bleeding to death from a thousand cuts.
The situation will settle, eventually, he told himself firmly. The peacetime economy would stabilize sooner or later. But we cannot hide from the fact that it will get worse before it gets better.
He was almost relieved to board his aircar at the end of the day and take flight, soaring over the city towards Rudbek Mansion. He knew he had no shortage of reports to read and paperwork to sign, but he just relaxed into the seat instead and closed his eyes. Perhaps it was time to add another layer of senior managers, people who could make decisions without consulting the CEO. But that would just make it harder for him to truly understand what was going on. And someone could easily pull the wool over his eyes if they had bad intentions.
Rudbek Mansion came into view, a futuristic building resting in the middle of a forest. It looked, Peter had often thought, like an unrealistic starship on the verge of taking flight. His father had told him that the original Rudbek had disdained the fashion for mansion designs that dated all the way back to the prespace era on Old Earth. He’d wanted something that symbolized his corporation’s determination to keep expanding until it reached the farthest star. Peter had to admit that the old man had succeeded.
And half the society dames say it lacks dignity, he thought. There was a message of defiance too, for anyone who cared to look. But a duke doesn’t have to care about dignity.
The aircar landed neatly on a pad. A young woman wearing a formal uniform greeted Peter and led him through a maze of corridors. Peter couldn’t help admiring the interior design, a strange combination of luxury starship and hotel. Walls were covered in screens rather than paintings; servants wore simple uniforms rather than the elaborate designs favored by the rest of High Society. It was, Peter conceded, rather refreshing.
“Peter,” Duke Rudbek said, as Peter was shown into the small dining room. “Thank you for coming.”
Peter nodded, looking around the compartment. Duchess Zangaria, Duke Tolliver, Israel Harrison . . . it was practically a working dinner. A chill ran down his spine as he realized the implications. They’d agreed not to meet regularly for fear of tipping off the king. Duke Rudbek wouldn’t have called them if the situation wasn’t urgent. The meeting alone would be far too revealing.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here,” Duke Rudbek said once Peter had taken a seat at the table. A server delivered a mug of coffee and then departed as silently as she’d come. “Matters have . . . taken an alarmingly dangerous turn.”
He paused. “Two weeks ago, the remnants of the Theocratic Navy were destroyed.”
Duchess Zangaria blinked. “I think your definition of bad news requires some work.”
&
nbsp; “That’s good news,” Duke Rudbek said. “But this was two weeks ago.”
Peter stared at him. “And we haven’t heard a peep about this?”
“No,” Duke Rudbek told him. “Most of my sources in the navy are entirely unaware there even was an engagement. I only heard about this through a source in the palace itself. There is a total information blackout. I’m not even sure that the garrison on Ahura Mazda knows that the threat is over.”
“You’d think the navy would be telling everyone,” Duchess Zangaria said. “Every crown we spent on the deployment to the occupied sector has just been justified.”
“You’d think,” Duke Rudbek agreed. He took a long breath. “It gets worse. The post-battle investigation, according to my source, uncovered proof that someone was supporting the Theocrats. Someone from within the Commonwealth itself. Someone . . . fairly high up the chain.”
Peter felt as if the ground had just shifted under his feet. It was bad enough to think that one of the other interstellar powers might have quietly backed the Theocracy. He could see the logic behind keeping the Royal Navy distracted, but it was madness. The prospect of a full-fledged interstellar war against someone more advanced than the Theocrats was terrifying. But . . . if someone in the Commonwealth was behind the insurgency . . .
A nasty thought ran through his mind. He didn’t want to face it.
Duchess Zangaria drew a long breath. “Who?”
“Well, any of us could have done it,” Duke Rudbek said. He ignored Harrison’s soft cough of disdain. “And so could a number of . . . let us say lesser aristocrats. But I think we know there is only one prime suspect.”
“The king,” Peter said. The thought was so shocking he could barely contemplate it. “Are you suggesting that the king deliberately helped the enemy?”
“It does make a certain kind of sense,” Duke Rudbek pointed out. “Who benefits from a resurgent threat? The king, because it allows him to prolong the state of emergency and keep raking in taxes. How many of his powers will end with the state of emergency? And it isn’t as if four enemy superdreadnoughts, or eight, or sixteen, would pose any real threat. They might be able to cause havoc in the occupied sector, but over here? They’d be smashed if they tried to hit a first-rank world. Maybe we should ask questions about why the bastards never tried to cross the Gap.”
“I was under the impression that there was a greater chance of being detected if they tried,” Peter said stiffly. Could the allegations be true? He didn’t believe it . . . he didn’t want to believe it. And yet, if one assumed the king might have set out to prolong his emergency powers . . . might he have provoked the war to obtain his emergency powers? Had it been the king behind Admiral Morrison? “I . . . if this is true . . .”
“If this is true,” Duchess Zangaria repeated. “How do we know it is true? This . . . rumor could be designed to push us into an untenable position. Accusing the king of High Treason . . . if we were wrong, or right without a great deal of proof, we’d be in real trouble.”
“My source was quite specific,” Duke Rudbek said firmly. “And I have had no reason to doubt her before.”
“That’s how they lure you in,” Duchess Zangaria said. “They feed you snippets of genuine information so that when they lie, you’ll believe it. This could be nothing more than a cunning plot to destroy our credibility once and for all.”
“Or a warning that the situation is an order of magnitude worse than we thought,” Duke Rudbek said. “We will, of course, attempt to verify the information. However, assuming it is true . . . what do we do?”
“We move ahead with the impeachment bill,” Peter said. “And brace ourselves for a violent response.”
“And we move to secure the planetary defenses,” Duke Rudbek added. “I’m trying to ensure that my clients are aware of the possible danger.”
“And mine,” Peter said. “But . . . you do realize this could end very badly?”
“It’s already bad,” Duke Rudbek said. “Israel?”
“Right now, there’s no way we could guarantee a victory,” Harrison said. “The impeachment bill rests on shaky foundations. We would have to prove that the king is either unsuitable for his position or engaged in criminal behavior. And, so far, we have no actual proof of either.”
“I believe we can impeach him for whatever the hell we like,” Duchess Zangaria observed archly.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Harrison said. “We could impeach him for wearing flowered underpants, if we could convince a majority of Parliament to support us. And yes, it would be perfectly legal. But we would have to convince Parliament that wearing flowered underpants is something so . . . so unsuitable that it justifies impeachment. And the MPs, in particular, would have to justify their vote to their constituencies. I think it would be easier to impeach him for wearing the wrong underwear than high treason.”
Peter resisted the urge to snort, rudely. “So we focus on something we can prove,” he said. “Misuse of taxpayers’ money—that should look good in the newscasts—and interfering with the withdrawal from the occupied sector. We can even press to impeach him on the grounds that he’s done everything in his power to prolong the state of emergency. That’s true, even if we don’t have proof he supplied the Theocrats.”
“And we keep making preparations to defang him as soon as the vote is passed,” Duke Rudbek warned. “We cannot risk giving him a chance to hit back.”
“We could move first,” Duchess Zangaria pointed out. “Defang him, then impeach him.”
“It would bring the political system crashing down,” Harrison said. “Once the precedent for acting outside the law is set, we’d never be able to get away from it.”
“Yes,” Duke Rudbek said. He looked at Peter. “There’s one other thing you need to know.”
Peter looked back at him evenly. “And that is?”
“Your sister was in command of the force that smashed the Theocratic base,” Duke Rudbek said. “And she contacted the king directly, as a member of his Privy Council. What does that tell you about where her loyalties lie?”
“I don’t know,” Peter said. “But if this . . . situation . . . really does get out of hand, a great many people are going to have to decide which side they’re on.”
“And hope it isn’t the one that loses,” Harrison muttered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
* * *
IN TRANSIT
Kat looked up and smiled as William stepped into her suite and nodded politely to her. He looked vaguely out of place in the drab shipsuit that passed for a uniform on Asher Dales, but he’d declined all offers of replacement uniforms or civilian clothes. She rather suspected the choice of attire was a statement of independence, aimed more at the king than her. She’d effectively kidnapped him when the squadron had departed the enemy base and set course for the Gap.
She rose to greet him. “Tanya isn’t coming?”
“She’s fiddling with the budget,” William told her. “She thinks we can purchase a couple of additional destroyers when we reach Tyre.”
“That might be a good idea,” Kat said. “The Theocrats may be gone, but there will be other threats.” She motioned for him to sit down at the table. “Lucy told me she’s been cooking all day,” she said. Her steward had been excited when she’d heard that Kat had invited William to a private dinner, even though it wasn’t particularly formal. “I’m sure it’s something good.”
“I remember her cooking,” William said. “It was almost enough to convince me to stay in the navy.”
Kat met his eyes. “I could get your commission reactivated,” she said gently. “You’d be welcome.”
“Not everywhere,” William said. “Colonials have been having a very hard time of it.”
“You could set a good example,” Kat pointed out, trying not to wince. “And if you rose higher . . .”
William shook his head. “Besides, I accepted a responsibility to Asher Dales,” he added. “I can’t just abandon them, not
until they have a formal naval establishment of their own.”
“They’ll probably hire others,” Kat said. She sighed, knowing that William wouldn’t give in so quickly. He was an honorable man. “If you change your mind, please let me know.”
“I will,” William said. He looked down at the table. “I don’t like the way things have been going on Tyre. This . . . someone backing the Theocrats . . . this is the very last straw.”
Lucy entered before Kat could say a word, carrying a tray of food. “This is my very best turkey bake,” she said, putting it down on the table. “Can I get you a drink? Either of you?”
“Water for me, please,” William said when Kat glanced at him. “I’ll have something stronger later.”
“Water for me too,” Kat said. She’d never been a heavy drinker, even when she’d been a midshipwoman. One hangover had been quite enough for her. “The food looks good.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Lucy said. She took a jug of water from the drinks cabinet and poured them each a glass, then bobbed a curtsy and withdrew. “Ring if you need me.”
Kat reached for the spoon and ladled a midsized helping onto William’s plate. The food smelled good too, a mixture of turkey, pasta, cheese, and something she didn’t quite recognize. She served herself afterwards, then sat back in her chair. Her stomach was rumbling hungrily, reminding her that it had been too long since she’d eaten. She’d been busy preparing her ship for war.
William cocked his head. “Who do you think did it?”
“Good question,” Kat said, trying to disguise her irritation. Her family might enjoy discussing galactic politics over the dinner table, but she didn’t. She’d expected better from William. But then, it was the first chance they’d had in the last three weeks to actually talk privately. Tanya had monopolized most of his time. “And I don’t have an answer.”
She took a bite of her food and chewed it slowly, enjoying the taste. “Father wouldn’t have backed a fool like Admiral Morrison,” she said. “And even if he had, he would have told me that Morrison was one of our clients. He would have been a great deal more deferential to me too.”
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 37