Democracy's Right: Book 02 - Democracy's Might

by Christopher Nuttall

  He tapped the table for attention. “How many of those ships have fallen into rebel hands?”

  “We don’t know,” Porter confessed. “There were mutinies that gutted the interiors of their ships, starships that were intercepted and destroyed before they could escape ... and it will still take months for them to unite their fleets. Quite a few of them might have gone rogue and become pirates. We simply don’t know.”

  “Very well,” Lady Madeline said. “How do we respond to this crisis?”

  “War,” Lord Bernadotte said. “The rebels, by their own declaration, want our blood. I do not believe that we can compromise with them in any meaningful way.”

  “But war would be immensely costly,” Lord Rothschild pointed out. “We are already facing the economic fallout from the Roosevelt Collapse” – he paused to peer at the empty space where Lord Paul Roosevelt should have sat – “and large expenditures now would be disastrous. If we lose a second or third family, we might lose the Empire.”

  “We are already risking the loss of the Empire,” Lord Bernadotte snapped. “The rebels want us dead. They are not likely to agree to stay in Sector 117, leaving the rest of the human-settled galaxy to us. At the very least, they would demand the end of the Thousand Families and our control over the Empire.”

  There was a long pause as the assembled Family Heads considered the matter. Their ancestors had been the men and women who had built and funded the Empire. In exchange, they had assured themselves – and their descendents – of control over the structure they had built. They might have argued constantly over the exact direction of the Empire, but they had never allowed outsiders into power. Indeed, they’d started even refusing to allow outsiders to marry into the families. In hindsight, Tiberius suspected, that had been a mistake.

  If the rebels broke the Thousand Families and their monopoly on power, no one had any illusions about what would happen next. At best, their family-owned corporations would be outmatched and destroyed by free competition; at worst, there would be a purge, with their relatives killed or dumped on penal worlds. There would be no hope of rebuilding their position after a rebel defeat. Lord Bernadotte was right.

  But Tiberius knew that Lord Rothschild was also right. War would be costly. The Empire might win the war, only to lose itself when the economy collapsed.

  “War, then,” Lady Madeline said, after the vote was taken. Seven out of ten voted for war, leaving three doves isolated at the table. “Admiral ... how can we win?”

  Tiberius listened absently as Admiral Porter droned on about activating starships from the reserves and conscripting officers and men from civilian life. He was no space combat expert – and besides, he was grimly aware that Admiral Porter was no expert either. A past master at bureaucratic infighting, skilful enough to maintain his position despite a lack of powerful patrons ... but no expert in actual combat. He had never even stood on the command deck of a starship, let alone taken her into action.

  “I have tactical officers currently analysing the entire situation,” Porter said. “In addition, we have the testimony of Captain Quick, who was brought back to us by ... intelligence officers.”

  Tiberius smiled. One of his people had had the wit to take Captain Quick from Camelot before the planet fell to the rebels. Tiberius had rewarded and promoted the man, then handed Captain Quick over to Imperial Intelligence and ONI. There was no point in trying to seek advantage from holding her, not with the Empire at risk ...

  He tapped the table as Admiral Porter began to wind down. “There remains one final issue,” he said. There was no need to involve himself – or the rest of the Family Heads – in the precise details of the mobilisation. Admiral Porter was trying to smoother them in minutia. “Who do we place in command of the fleet?”

  A rustle ran around the table. They all had clients within the Imperial Navy, officers they patronised and promoted in exchange for obedience and support. Patronage networks underlined the Navy, ensuring that no one family gained control of sufficient firepower to take out the rest of the aristocracy. After the Empress, the question of control had pervaded all of their discussions. Whoever they put in command of the defence against the rebels had to be someone completely loyal ...

  ... And no such paragon existed. How could he when there were so many masters?

  But there was one person who was loyal to the Imperial Navy. He would have to do.

  “We need unity of command,” Tiberius said. Having a dozen officers, each one loyal to a different family, would be disastrous. Political infighting was acceptable under normal conditions, but this was war. The rebels would not hesitate to take advantage of fractures within the Imperial Navy. “I propose that we appoint Admiral Wachter to command the fleet.”

  “Oh,” Lord Rothschild said. It was impossible to tell if he approved or not. The Rothschild Family had fewer connections to the Imperial Navy than most of the others. “And why him, specifically?”

  Tiberius smiled. “We can't assign anyone from our families,” he said. Even he would be tempted, if he controlled so much firepower. “But we don’t dare appoint someone who isn't from the aristocracy. Admiral Wachter is skilful, loyal and devoted to the Imperial Navy. If he had wanted to be disloyal, he had plenty of chances before he was ... retired from the service.”

  He felt his smile grow wider. Admiral Wachter had alienated too many members of the aristocracy and their clients, including Admiral Percival. But Percival was dead or wishing he was, while the Roosevelt Family was collapsing into nothingness. There was a window of opportunity to rehabilitate Admiral Wachter and Tiberius intended to take it. Once there was someone reliable in command, the combination of superior firepower and superior industrial production would ensure that the rebels were stopped.

  There was a long debate, unsurprisingly, but there was no real opposition. Tiberius accessed his personal communication channel and asked Sharon to invite Admiral Wachter to the mansion, then started laying additional plans of his own. Stopping the rebels was important, yes, but it was equally important to safeguard the family. Opening secret lines of communication might only benefit both sides. The other families would object, of course, if it became public ...

  Tiberius shook his head. They would be doing the same thing too.

  And besides, he added, in the privacy of his own head, the Cicero Family had an unfair advantage. All it required was the right messenger ...

  Chapter Two

  Admiral Joshua Wachter was a short, stumpy man, wearing a simple black uniform without any rank badges or medals. No, Tiberius realised, as the Admiral came to a halt in front of his desk; it wasn't a uniform at all, just something tailored to resemble one. The Admiral was making a statement, warning Tiberius that he still considered himself a naval officer first and foremost. Tiberius was almost relieved. It was nice to deal with someone who wasn't putting his own interests – or his Patron’s interests – ahead of everything else.

  “Please, be seated,” Tiberius said. “We have a great deal to talk about.”

  He studied the Admiral with some interest as the older man sat down. Like most aristocrats, the Admiral could have taken advantage of the latest rejuvenation treatments, but it was clear that he hadn't bothered. His medical file stated that his last treatment had been two weeks after he’d been placed on permanent leave from the Navy. It was clear that Wachter lacked the vanity of so many other officers his age.

  “The rebellion, I presume,” the Admiral said.

  Tiberius wasn't too surprised. In theory, Public Information was maintaining a complete news blackout, but the destruction of the Jupiter Shipyard was hard to miss. By now, according to his sources, word was spreading rapidly through the Sol System. The Empire might control all licensed media outlets, but the underground had its own ways of spreading information. And someone like the Admiral would probably still have friends in the Navy, men and women who might pass on the word.

  “Yes,” Tiberius said. He picked up a datapad from his desk a
nd held it out. “This is the situation, as of this morning. I won’t insult your intelligence by pointing out that much of it is out of date.”

  The Admiral quirked his eyebrows, then took the pad and started to read. Tiberius watched carefully, trying to read the man’s emotions, but it was impossible. The Admiral was well-schooled in keeping his face expressionless, even without an electronic mask or emotional control implants. That too wasn't surprising. No one reached high office without the ability to mask their emotions, dissemble and lie outright, should it be necessary.

  “Interesting,” the Admiral observed, when he had finished. “You do realise the underlying cause of this revolution?”

  Tiberius suspected he did, but motioned for Wachter to continue anyway.

  “The system is not designed to allow the smart, talented and ambitious a chance to flourish,” the Admiral said. “Men and women who know they are more competent than their superiors are kept back, watching helplessly as people are promoted merely on the grounds of birth or their willingness to kiss the ass of the aristocrats. It doesn't really breed loyalty when you constantly keep the talented down, does it?”

  “Apparently not,” Tiberius agreed, coolly.

  “Take yourself, for example,” the Admiral continued. “You are younger and less experienced than most of the adults in your family. Your sole qualification for being Family Head is being the biological son of the previous Family Head. I would not be too surprised if elements in your family were quietly trying to undermine your position. Why should they not resent your elevation over your head?”

  Tiberius knew the Admiral had a point. He’d never asked to succeed his father; indeed, he’d expected the old man had many years to go before death. But he hadn't really been given a choice.

  He cleared his throat. “Thank you for being direct,” he said. “Let me ask you a question in return. Which side are you on?”

  Others, he knew, would probably not give him a honest answer. But he had a feeling the Admiral would be honest, even if it killed him.

  The Admiral considered the question for a long moment. “The Empire has its flaws, but it maintains human unity and human unity is the key to human survival,” he said, finally. “We were taught that in the last interstellar war. The rebels may seek reform now, but they will unleash forces that will either shatter the Empire or push them to replacing the Thousand Families with an aristocracy of their own. The only thing holding humanity together is the strong hand of Empire. I cannot side with rebels.”

  He met Tiberius’s eyes. “Which isn't to say that I don’t think reforms have to be made,” he added. “The rebels do have legitimate complaints. If you could answer them, you may prevent future rebellions.”

  Tiberius remembered the Empress and shuddered. There was no way the Families Council would agree to dismantle the patronage networks, if that was even possible. The networks weren't just there to boost their power and status, they were there to prevent another Empress from seizing control of a large portion of the fleet and turning it against the Empire. But the networks seemed to have failed. The rebels might be six months from Earth – but that had been six months ago. Where were they now?

  “That would be difficult,” he admitted. Capable officers were ambitious officers – and ambition was dangerous. “We couldn't bring them all into the families ...”

  The Admiral smiled. “Why not? It would help prevent inbreeding.”

  Tiberius’s eyes narrowed. The suggestion that the Thousand Families were inbred was an old slur, but it wasn't true. Genetic engineering ensured that there were no problems with inbreeding for the families, no matter how closely they were related. Hell, there was so much engineering that it was questionable just how much of Tiberius’s father had gone into him.

  “Oh, not biological inbreeding,” the Admiral said. “Intellectual inbreeding. The echo chamber created by having so many people in agreement talking together, without allowing any room for new ideas along with new blood. How many of your fellow aristocrats could even begin to understand life outside the High City?”

  “Point,” Tiberius conceded, ruefully. “Most of them wouldn't even know where to begin, if they were kicked out of the High City.”

  He sighed, remembering old battles. In his opinion, at least two-thirds of the family were little more than oxygen thieves – and he suspected the same was true of the other major families. They enjoyed themselves, partying endlessly, while Tiberius and the other more responsible adults handled all the work. But then, even the vast domains of the Cicero Family were insufficient to give everyone something meaningful to do. And to think there were times when he envied the social butterflies!

  “That isn't what I called you here to discuss,” he said, rubbing his forehead. There was too much to do and too little time. “We are currently assembling a fleet to confront and defeat the rebels before they spread too far. I would like you to take command of the fleet.”

  The Admiral lifted an eyebrow in pretend surprise. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re loyal to the Empire,” Tiberius said. “Because you’re not loyal to a single Family. Because you are a competent naval officer. Because ...”

  He shook his head. “There are good reasons to select you,” he added. “And the Families Council signed off on it.”

  “I’m sure that must have been a long argument,” the Admiral commented. He leaned back in his chair and placed his fingertips together. “And why should I take the job?”

  “Because you’re loyal to the Empire,” Tiberius said. He’d read the Admiral’s file carefully, line by line. It had stated that the Admiral was desperate to return to space. “And because you understand what’s at stake.”

  There was a long pause as the Admiral considered it, his face impassive. “There are conditions,” he said, finally.

  “Name them,” Tiberius said. He wasn't in the mood to bargain. “What do you want?”

  The Admiral ticked off points on his fingers. “You can't run the war from Earth,” he said. “I want overall authority to operate without referring every decision back to you. I want authority to remove officers who don’t live up to my standards or are hopelessly corrupt. I want authority to activate the naval reserves, access naval stores and other measures to get the fleet into fighting trim without having to seek permission from Luna Base.”

  Tiberius felt his eyes narrow, again. “You think the fleet isn't in fighting trim?”

  “I would be very surprised if it is,” the Admiral said, bluntly. “When I was last on the command deck of a superdreadnaught, corrupt officers had a nasty habit of stealing supplies and selling them off. I expect the missiles that destroyed the Jupiter Shipyards came from the Imperial Navy, originally. Even if they didn’t ...”

  He shrugged. “And morale will be in the pits,” he added. “Which leads to another point. I don’t want Blackshirts on the ships. Putting them on ships in Sector 117 was idiotic, to say the least. I’m not surprised that the crews mutinied. The Blackshirts are animals.”

  “I know,” Tiberius said, quietly.

  “And one other thing,” the Admiral said. “I know there will be spies in the command staff and spies in the crews. The patronage networks will see to that, I expect. But I don’t want anyone undermining my authority. If you want to relieve me of command, that’s one thing – I’ll accept it, even if I won’t like it. I won’t tolerate officers trying to undermine me or asserting separate authority. One hint of that and I will put the officer in question out an airlock.”

  Tiberius met his eyes, seeing nothing but grim resolve. The Thousand Families had been leery of placing so much power into a single person’s hands, even before the Empress had reminded them of the wisdom of that policy. If the Admiral was secretly disloyal – or even merely ambitious – he would have ample opportunity to prepare the ground for a coup. The patronage networks normally made that tricky, if not impossible. But if the networks were told to keep their heads down ...

  There would b
e no checks and balances, nothing to prevent the Admiral from laying his own plans. He'd been a legend in the Imperial Navy a long time before Tiberius had even been born, one of the few Admirals to earn respect from all ranks. And yet, if he’d wanted to be disloyal, he could just have kept his mouth shut. Instead, he was practically daring Tiberius to reject him. Or was it a cunning double-bluff?

  Or was he completely unaware of the political subtext? Did he just want the tools he needed to do the job properly, no matter the political cost?

  “I believe I can ensure that no one challenges you openly,” Tiberius said, slowly. “But I’m afraid there will be spies. I doubt I could convince the others to remove them.”

  “Probably not, no,” the Admiral said. He looked down at the datapad, then back up at Tiberius. “Admiral Porter – or rather his command staff – is correct to suggest that we prepare our defensive lines at Morrison. The rebels will, assuming they drive on Earth, have to reduce and occupy the base to protect their rear. My fleet will assemble there, then lure the rebels into battle in a time and place of our choosing.”

  “There will be objections,” Tiberius pointed out, mildly. “Hundreds of worlds are at risk.”

  The Admiral snorted. “I cannot defend everywhere,” he said. “If I spread out the fleet, we will risk losing everything. The rebels will simply concentrate their forces against one target after another. Smaller worlds add nothing to their strength, so they can be recovered after the rebel fleet is destroyed.”

  Tiberius nodded. “Why not attack directly towards Jackson’s Folly?”

  “I doubt the fleet is in any condition to take the offensive,” the Admiral admitted. “The rebels will know that we have a huge production advantage. Their only hope for victory is to attack Earth and the other Core Worlds as soon as possible. The autonomous worlds may even consider joining the rebels if the rebels look likely to win.”