Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Light

“Disgusting,” he said, shaking his head. If Tiberius had a means of controlling them at a distance, he might even have an entire army right under Colin’s nose, one that would never be suspected until it was far too late. No one took pleasure slaves seriously. “Keep them out of Parliament and anywhere else that might be dangerous.”

“Already done,” Anderson said, with a wink. “The remainder of the Thousand Families were not happy to learn about Lord Roosevelt’s death.”

“I’m sure,” Colin said. He laughed briefly. Tiberius had probably done the Roosevelt Clan a big favour, although the handful of survivors probably cursed his name with every breath they took. “We still have no direct proof, which leaves us with a problem.”

He picked up the gold-covered envelope on the desk and opened it. “You are cordially invited to the wedding of Tiberius Cicero, Head of Clan Cicero, and Alicia Russell, of the Russell Family,” he said, dryly. He’d only met Alicia once, but she reminded him, in some ways, of Kathy. Tiberius might have chosen well. “It’s not something I want to attend, but I may have no choice.”

“I don’t think that you count as a vital family member,” Anderson said, dryly. Colin had to smile. Apart from a bastard some few generations back, his family tree was decidedly common. Some of the Family matrons could barely bring themselves to acknowledge his existence. “You could just turn down the invitation.”

“You have got to be joking,” Frandsen said, a second later. “Here, we can pretty much guarantee your safety, unless they manage to get shipkillers launched at the city. In Tiberius’s estate… they could do anything to you. Colin, I hope you’re not considering going, not seriously.”

“I may have no choice,” Colin repeated. He scowled down at the invitation. It was handmade, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship under almost any situation, but Frandsen was right. The odds were that it was an invitation to a trap. He admired the workmanship of the artist, thinking hard. They had to understand the problem before they could advise him. “Tiberius is a member of the Cabinet in good standing.”

He held up a hand before they could object. “Officially, there is no break between the pair of us, so being invited — and accepting the invite — is pretty much compulsory,” he continued. “If I snub him, it will look as if I am snubbing him, in public. The outside observers, the reporters, the chattering classes, will take my snub and run with it. They will decide that Tiberius is on the way out and that news, in the wrong place, will inflict harm on the Empire.”

The thought was maddening. If he moved against Tiberius, in the stark certainty that he intended to kill him, he would look like a tyrant. The first-rank worlds would consider breaking ranks. His supporters would fear him and start preparing contingency plans for his removal. His enemies would see the writing on the wall and strike first… and all his hopes and dreams for the Empire would wither and die. He couldn’t allow it to happen, which meant that he had to expose himself to enemy fire, as crazy as it seemed.

“That is as nothing compared to the harm that would befall the Empire if anything happened to you,” Frandsen said, firmly. “The entire Provisional Government would come apart at the seams. You’re the only person holding it together. Parliament can’t go in the same direction without bickering… and the Imperial Navy will fragment without you. Admiral Wilhelm may win by default.”

Colin scowled. The news of Wakanda had come in last night; a first-rank world, the least of the first-rank worlds, had fallen to Admiral Wilhelm, almost without a fight. They hadn’t even placed a destroyer in a position to observe the battle and report to the Imperial Navy, so the only visuals they had of the battle came from a freighter captain who had risked her ship to record as much as she could… and it wasn’t enough to help calculate losses. The only point that everyone could agree on was that Wakanda had been crushed and occupied.

His eyes fell on the starchart. Assuming that Admiral Wilhelm left at once, he was going to be within two weeks of Earth, or days of the next possible target world. Colin privately suspected that Admiral Wilhelm wouldn’t bother punching out other first-rank worlds — it wouldn’t actually gain him anything beyond more enemies — but instead he would come straight for Earth. It might even win him some allies among the first-rank worlds if he made the right promises and offered the right deals. They didn’t even have an accurate read on his fleet’s strength, which meant that Colin couldn’t spare anything from Earth to reinforce the first-rank worlds. The war seemed to have faded into a state where the best he could do was wait to be hit.

“That may be true,” Colin said, dragging his attention back to the two men. It was true and, without false modesty, he knew it. Joshua Wachter, irony of ironies, might have been the only other person who could have held the Imperial Navy together, but he was officially dead. God alone knew what had happened to him, or what Tiberius had in mind, but Colin had some very nasty suspicions. “It’s also not up for debate. I have to attend the wedding.”

Frandsen scowled. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Colin nodded. Frandsen was rarely so formal. “Sir, with all due respect, it’s a mistake, a stupid mistake. You will be venturing into the lion’s den, a place controlled by a person whom you know wants to kill you and destroy all that you stand for. You may as well paint a big target on your back and tattoo the words ‘please shoot here’ on your forehead.”

Colin smiled without humour. “Neil…”

“It’s not an issue of showing bravery under fire, or even under threat of fire,” Frandsen continued. “You’re not a young and expendable Midshipman any longer. God knows I have sent young Marines to their deaths, expecting — knowing — that some of the young men and women will die, but I had no choice. When I served as their commander, I could not take foolish risks…”

“You did lead the boarding party back at Macore personally,” Anderson observed.

Frandsen scowled at him before turning his attention back to Colin. “You should not attend this wedding,” he said, firmly. “Sir, please…”

“I must agree with Neil,” Anderson said, flatly. The kindest thing he normally said about Marines was that they were knuckle-dragging cavemen. Colin had rarely heard him actually agreeing outright with Frandsen, who competed with him for Colin’s attention. “I do not believe that we can guarantee your safety.”

“My safety isn’t the issue,” Colin said.

“Your safety is the Empire’s safety,” Frandsen said, tiredly. He rolled his eyes just enough to venture into insubordination. “See previous rant.”

“And see mine,” Colin said, softly. “I cannot not attend the wedding, Neil.”

“I know,” Frandsen said. “God help us.”

“But we will take precautions,” Colin said. He leaned forward. “I don’t know if Tiberius actually does intend to try something stupid at the wedding, but if he does, I want to be ready for him.”

“He’ll do more than try,” Frandsen said. He glowered down at the floor, as if he were expecting it to sprout weapons and try to kill them. The Empire had been known to use booby-traps to kill the unwary in the past. “If he can’t kill you with all the odds in his favour…”

He left the sentence unfinished.

“I know,” Colin said. They shared a tight grin. “This is what we are going to do.”

The planet of Wakanda, Admiral Wilhelm decided, after his brief victory tour, was a dump. It wasn’t just the government, or what was left of it after outraged crowds vented their feelings on everyone they could reach, or the damage left after police skimmers had used heavy weapons on unprotected crowds, but the very feeling of despondency that seemed to lie everywhere. The slums surrounding the spaceport, filled with more unproductive men, women and children than he’d ever seen in his life, the crumbling cities, the obvious criminal gangs preying on anyone who wasn’t well-protected… the entire planet was falling apart. He’d skimmed through one of the government’s broachers, trying to convince the people that all was well, and had had to laugh. Wakanda had no past, no present… and no future.