William lifted his eyebrows. “I thought he spent half his time kissing your ass.”
Kat had to smile, even though the mental image his words brought was revolting. “He would have been more willing to listen to me, perhaps even to do what I said, if he was one of our clients. Even if I hadn’t known, William, he would have known. And he wouldn’t have known that I didn’t know.”
“I’m sure that makes sense on some level,” William said.
Kat snorted. “That’s High Society for you,” she said. “Now you know why I wanted to leave it. The navy . . . the navy is more honest than High Society.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” William said.
“But there’s more at stake on a starship than back home,” Kat countered. “And the environment will kill an idiot who doesn’t know to maintain the life support.”
She put her fork on the plate and looked up. “The problem is that anyone could have backed Admiral Morrison,” she said. “Well, it would have to be someone fairly high up. But . . . even if they hadn’t ordered Admiral Morrison to refrain from making any preparations for war, they’d be in real trouble when the truth came out. They’d have every reason in the world to cover it up. And they might succeed.”
Her lips formed a faint smile. “They did succeed.”
“But now we see something far darker than a desperate attempt to cover up a mistake,” William pointed out. “Someone, perhaps the same someone, has also been backing the Theocracy. Who?”
“It would have to be someone wealthy enough to do so without causing more than a blip in the financial records,” Kat said. “Someone arrogant enough to believe that they wouldn’t get caught, or that they wouldn’t suffer badly if they were caught. Or someone desperate . . . Cavendish is desperate. But I don’t believe they had significant problems before the war.”
“And if the Theocracy won,” William mused, “they’d be executed.”
Kat nodded. She’d seen enough horrors over the last five years to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Theocratic occupation was an utter nightmare. The worlds the Theocracy had managed to occupy during the war were traumatized—Hebrides had been turned into a radioactive ruin—and the worlds they’d ruled for decades were even worse. Asher Dales had been quite lucky. There were liberated worlds that had been on the verge of civil war for the last year or so. No one in their right mind would want a Theocratic victory.
And Admiral Morrison’s backers could have done much more to sabotage the war effort, if they’d wanted us to lose, Kat thought. Anyone with the sort of power and influence necessary to put Morrison in high office and then cover it up when he proved himself a cowardly incompetent could have done a great deal more damage. Why didn’t they?
She put the thought aside for later contemplation and took another mouthful. “Duke Rudbek has a reputation for being ruthless,” she mused. For once, she wished she’d paid more attention to Candy’s endless gossipmongering. “Duke Tolliver isn’t much better. He’s skirted quite close to the legal lines in the past, if rumor is to be believed. Duchess Zangaria never liked me, but I don’t think she’d use that as an excuse for treason.”
William laughed. “Why didn’t she like you?”
“I don’t know.” Kat shrugged. “I don’t recall any time she liked me, even when I was a little girl. It isn’t as if I went out of my way to give offense as a child.”
She sipped her water, thoughtfully. “Point is, any of them could have done it.”
William met her eyes. “What about the king?”
“The king?” Kat blinked in surprise. “Him?”
“He has the resources, does he not?” William didn’t look away. “It would be easier for him to promote Admiral Morrison without making waves. And then he could arrange for the admiral’s death after we rescued him. He has so much influence within the navy that he could probably also arrange for the captured supplies to go missing. Remember, everyone who joins the navy swears personal loyalty to the king.”
“And everyone who joins Planetary Defense swears loyalty to Parliament,” Kat said. “It doesn’t mean that they’ll carry out illegal orders . . .”
“The king told you to bring your fleet home,” William pointed out. “And you obeyed.”
Kat flushed. “He is the commander-in-chief.”
“Yes,” William said. “But only in wartime.”
“That . . .” Kat took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. The suggestion was absurd—completely absurd. The king wouldn’t commit treason. The king wouldn’t sentence millions of people to death. The king had been the one pushing for more ships and resources to be diverted to the occupied sectors. The idea that Hadrian would deliberately throw entire planets into the fire was madness. “Why? Why would he do it?”
“Power,” William said simply. “In peacetime, his powers are strictly limited. He’s the nominal commander-in-chief, but in practice the navy is run by the oversight committee and his influence is informal. In wartime, by contrast, he is the commander-in-chief in all ways that matter. He outranks even the Grand Admiral. And that will remain true as long as the state of emergency remains in existence.”
Kat shook her head in disbelief. “Even in peacetime, he’s still incredibly powerful,” she said, flatly. “The Royal Corporation is an immense power base if used properly. You’re suggesting he would take the risk of throwing everything he has away, for what? For a few scraps of power?”
Her voice rose. “And if you’re suggesting he deliberately started the war . . . why?”
“To get a state of emergency,” William said, flatly. “And to start a war that could be contained. One he believed that the Commonwealth literally could not lose.”
“Madness,” Kat said.
“Is it?” William leaned back in his chair. “Think about it. Admiral Morrison kept his fleet at no more than peacetime levels of readiness, even as tensions heated up along the border and our shipping was being hit by pirates and privateers. Cadiz was a sitting duck. But, at the same time, the Admiralty dispatches Admiral Christian to reinforce the borders . . . secretly. Even if First Cadiz had been a total disaster, Admiral Christian would have been able to buy time to bring the rest of the navy into the war.”
He paused. “And it worked out even better than anyone could have expected,” he added, “because we were there. We saved much of the fleet. We even managed to retake the high orbitals long enough to pull our people off Cadiz before the Theocrats rallied and kicked us back out again. The odds of us losing the war, already low, go down still further.”
Kat shook her head. “William . . . do you know how many things would have to go right for such a plan to succeed?”
“Fewer than you might think,” William said. “Cadiz has to be attacked. The fleet has to be neutralized, or it will be sitting in a perfect position to block the enemy supply lines. And the Theocrats have to tie up much of their striking power in a blow aimed at a world most planners considered worthless.”
“I was told as a cadet, time and time again, not to try to be clever,” Kat said, remembering all the cunning battle plans she’d developed that would never have worked in the real world. Her instructors had been quite scathing about some of them, pointing out that they depended on everything going exactly right or, perhaps more dangerously, made no provision for what to do if something went wrong. “This plan is . . . madness. Utter madness.”
“Yes,” William said. “It’s the sort of plan that might be devised by someone who had absolutely no real experience at all.”
The king has no real military experience, a treacherous voice whispered at the back of Kat’s mind. He didn’t even have to compete for his post.
“The king is already on top,” Kat said, telling that voice to shut up. “That’s like . . . me assassinating Admiral Falcone on the assumption I’d succeed to her post. But it’s the post I already have.”
William shrugged. “But the king did benefit, hugely, from the state of emergency. And
prolonging it does make sense.”
“If your theory is correct,” Kat said sharply.
“Even if it isn’t, the king does benefit from keeping the state of emergency going,” William reminded her. “He has an excellent motive.” He frowned. “And he’s made other missteps too,” he added. “Pushing for major investments in the liberated sectors . . . even demanding more investments in the colonies. That was a political misjudgment, particularly as he made no attempt to get support from Parliament first. Instead, he backed himself into a corner where there’s no way he can retreat without making himself look like an idiot.”
“I would have thought you’d support him,” Kat said flatly. “Those investments would have helped your people, as well as the liberated worlds.”
“Yes,” William said. “But he demanded too much and walked away with nothing. If he’d come to Parliament with a more reasonable set of requests, he might have done a great deal of good. Instead, nothing. The only thing he can reasonably be said to have accomplished in the last year is uniting Parliament against him.”
Kat looked down at her hands, suddenly aware, very aware, that similar discussions might be taking place all over the Commonwealth. Very few people knew what they’d found at the Theocratic base, unless the news had leaked on Tyre, but it hardly mattered. The king and Parliament had been heading towards a clash for nearly a year, as both sides struggled to press their agenda. The conflict could easily turn violent. She knew, all too well, that some aristocrats would do anything to boost their personal power.
“I don’t believe it,” she said. “The king would have to be absolutely insane to take such a chance.”
Kat held up a hand before he could say a word. “It was the king and his father who founded and nurtured the Commonwealth. It was the king who pressed for greater military preparation before the war, even though Parliament was reluctant to spend money on our defenses; it was the king who insisted that the colonies be defended too, even if it probably prolonged the war. It was the king who stated that we should help the occupied worlds rebuild, after the war; it was the king who fought to keep warships in the liberated sector, despite Parliament’s constant attempts to withdraw the fleet. It was the king . . .”
She felt an odd pang of . . . something. “It was the king who also saved my career, after Justin Deveron tried to ruin it. And he put me on the Privy Council, after my father died . . .”
“A move that might have separated you from your family,” William pointed out.
“My father was on the Privy Council until his death,” Kat reminded him. “And he was never separated from the family.” She took a breath. “And I know Hadrian. I’ve known him since we were both children. And I believe he means well.”
“A person can do a great deal of harm in the belief they’re doing the right thing,” William said quietly. “Kat . . . the king may mean well. But he’s created a disaster.”
“If you’re right,” Kat said. “William, what if you’re wrong?”
William leaned back in his chair. “We’ll see what happens when we reach Tyre,” he said. “But am I the only one to wonder why he ordered you to bring the fleet home?”
“He doesn’t know who to trust,” Kat said. “And he’s not wrong. You can’t trust anyone in High Society.”
William lifted his eyebrows, again. “Even you? Or the king?”
Kat snorted. “We were both odd ducks,” she said. “He was going to be the king and everyone knew he was going to be the king, while I was the tenth child and everyone knew I would never be anything important. That’s why I ran away to the navy.”
William frowned. “How close were you?”
“Not that close,” Kat assured him. “We weren’t best friends, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You make High Society sound wonderful,” William said, dryly.
“My father once said that if you wanted a friend in High Society, get a dog. Or a pony.” Kat laughed, although she knew it wasn’t really funny. There was too much truth in it for anyone’s peace of mind. “There are few true friends in High Society. Everyone knows that everyone else will betray them if they see advantage in doing so. A person who is shunned for a social crime like addressing a haughty dowager by the wrong title wouldn’t commit a harmless little prank like murder, you know. If you grow up there, you develop a warped view of the world.”
“You seem normal,” William teased.
Kat snorted, loudly. “Do you realize how many mistakes I made in my first year at Piker’s Peak? Not the classic mistakes, but social mistakes? A lot of things I’d taken for granted simply weren’t so. My supervisor gave me a very hard time. And I never quite realized . . .”
She shook her head. “The point is, I like the king,” she said. “And I find it hard to believe that he would commit treason on such a vast scale.”
“Yeah,” William said. He didn’t sound convinced. “But how many people will agree with you?”
CHAPTER FORTY
* * *
TYRE
William didn’t see Kat for several days after their dinner. He might have wondered, if she had been someone else, if she was avoiding him, but he knew that was unlikely. And yet . . . He knew their discussion had been difficult. He replayed the conversation time and time again in his head, wondering what, if anything, he should have said differently. But he knew obsessing was futile.
He understood her belief that the king was innocent, better perhaps than she realized. But he also had far more experience in dealing with younger officers than she did. He’d seen more than one junior officer struggle desperately to avoid admitting that they’d made a mistake, or they’d come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation that no longer sounded quite so reasonable. The king had always struck him as a junior officer who was in way over his head and, to some extent, on the verge of drowning. And junior officers were the ones who would come up with the most unbelievable plans that would fall apart immediately when they encountered the real world.
In truth, the whole concept of monarchy frightened him. The aristocracy was bad enough, although the aristocrats had to battle for supremacy; the monarchy allowed its heir to inherit without proving his worth, let alone his competence. That much power in the hands of an untested man? It was like giving a battlecruiser to a midshipman fresh out of the academy, the sort of thing that might be amusing if you weren’t charged with cleaning up the mess afterwards. He’d worried about Kat’s competence, and she’d been in the navy more than long enough to pick up the basics.
He was still mulling over the problem when Violence and her consorts returned to realspace, near Tyre. The thought of returning to the Commonwealth’s homeworld didn’t excite him—he had a feeling he’d be answering questions for months to come, even though he hadn’t been directly involved with collecting evidence—but Tanya was delighted. William didn’t have the heart to tell her that they’d most likely not be allowed down to the surface. They’d probably remain sequestered on the ship until someone in power figured out what to do with them.
Including making all the evidence go away, he thought. If he’d still had his navy access codes, he might have linked into the datanet and tried to look for clues, but they’d been canceled when he resigned. It might be interesting to see who issued the orders to dispose of the captured supplies . . .
His wristcom bleeped. “William, can you and Tanya meet me in my quarters?” Kat sounded tired. “It’s important.”
“We’re on our way,” William said.
He knocked on Tanya’s door, passed on the message, and headed for the hatch. Tanya followed him, looking every inch the professional lawyer. She’d been downloading brochures from all over the system as soon as Violence slid out of hyperspace, trying to see who might have ships they could buy. William was more than a little disturbed to notice that prices had quadrupled in the last few months. Clearly someone was investing in a great deal of military hardware.
Maybe it’s the Jorlem Sector,
he thought as they picked their way through the superdreadnought’s corridors. The worlds there are richer, and they have every reason to want to buy ships . . .
The hatch opened as they approached, allowing them to step into Kat’s quarters. William had seen them before, of course, but Tanya looked a little disdainful at the bare bulkheads and bland surroundings. An experienced officer would have recognized it as a sign of another experienced officer, one who knew better than to allow herself to get surrounded by junk. It was good, he supposed, that a couple of years as a flag officer hadn’t blunted Kat’s edge. Admiral Morrison had been an indolent man long before he’d found himself on the front lines.
“William,” Kat said. She looked tired too. “And Tanya. Thank you for coming.”
“You are more than welcome,” Tanya said. “However, I have requested permission to leave this vessel . . .”
“That’s what we need to discuss,” Kat said. She nodded towards the sofa. William sat down, gently pulling Tanya with him. “Martial law has been declared on Tyre.”
William cursed. “That’s not a good sign.”
“No,” Kat agreed. “The news channels are full of hysterical raving. I’ve requested a formal sitrep from both the Admiralty and my family’s intelligence staff, but so far neither of them has arrived. The only thing that has arrived is a strict warning that neither of you are to go down to the planet.”
“This is outrageous,” Tanya snapped. She made to stand up. “I’m a citizen of Tyre, and he’s a respected naval officer . . .”
“Right now, all normal civil liberties have been suspended,” Kat said. “If you arrive at the orbital tower, you will probably be arrested.”
“I’ll file a complaint,” Tanya said. “I . . .”
“Sit down,” Kat snapped. “This isn’t anything personal. Everyone on this ship, everyone in the squadron, has been denied the same permission. Fortunately, for better or worse, you do have permission to visit the scrapyards. I was able to swing it as a favor for an allied world, as you’ll be purchasing ships here. That said”—she met William’s eyes—“you are to stay away from the media and return to the ship when you’re done.”
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 38