Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

Gwendolyn bowed her head, submissively. Colin almost pitied her before realising that it was yet another attempt at emotional manipulation. She was very good at it. He hardened his heart, then reached into his jacket pocket and dropped a chip on the table in front of her. She glanced at it, then looked up at him. He read the question in her eyes.

“My proposed peace terms,” Colin said. “I haven’t bothered to exaggerate to allow you to haggle me down to the barely acceptable. Those are my terms. If you refuse to accept them, the Thousand Families will be destroyed.”

“And the Empire might go down with us,” Gwendolyn pointed out.

“We’ll take that chance,” Colin said. He stood. “You’ll be returned to your ship in an hour. Once you are there, head back to Earth at once. If we beat you there, it will be very embarrassing for you.”

It would be, he knew. Quite apart from the failure to ensure that the Families Council had a chance to debate Colin’s terms, it would be strange for a single ship to be beaten by an entire fleet. Colin knew, better than most serving officers, that the more ships there were in a fleet, the slower the average speed. After all, ships could suffer navigational or drive failures, forcing the entire fleet to slow down to ensure they stayed together…

He walked out of the hatch, then headed towards the CIC. Five weeks to Earth, he told himself, five weeks to the final confrontation with the Thousand Families and their loyalists. If the files were accurate, Home Fleet hadn’t been in any better state that the Morrison Fleet… and it hadn’t had a commander as independent as Admiral Wachter. But he knew, better than anyone, just how inaccurate the files could be. It was possible that the Thousand Families had managed to find a competent CO for Home Fleet.

Colin smiled, dismissing the thought. One way or another, he knew, it would all be over soon. And then the real challenge — reforming the Empire — would begin.

Tiberius stood in his office, staring out over the High City.

It looked so safe and tranquil. And it was safe. The aristocrats might contest with one another for power and position, but they would never resort to physical conflict, while the servants were all conditioned into obedience and docility. They would never turn on their masters, no matter what they were offered. It was impossible, even, for a servant to attack an aristocrat at the behest of their master.

But that safety was rapidly becoming illusionary. The news from Morrison had arrived last night and the Thousand Families were quietly digesting it. So far, a full council had not been summoned, which Tiberius had to admit was an ominous sign. Everyone was probably contemplating their fallback positions in the wake of losing Morrison. And Admiral Wachter… the final report had suggested that he’d been killed, but Tiberius had his doubts. Admiral Wachter was unlikely to die so easily.

If he’s in rebel hands , Tiberius thought, he might join them .

Wachter was loyal, but that loyalty had to have been stretched to breaking point when the Blackshirts had turned on him. The contingency plans had been limited; Wachter had been marked for death if he surrendered, or if there was good reason to think he would mutiny against the Empire. But now… if he’d survived, who could blame him for switching sides?

Apart from the Thousand Families, of course, Tiberius thought.

The news hadn’t leaked yet, which was quite remarkable. Somehow, the lid had been kept on, but it wouldn’t last. Losing Morrison meant that the rebels were within a month of Earth… no, it meant that the rebels had been within a month of Earth. If they’d set out as soon as they’d secured Morrison, they could be within hours of Earth by now. There had been no reports of bases obliterated or core systems seized, but that meant nothing. The rebels had to know that taking Earth would give them control… or collapse the Empire into rubble.

There would be panic, he knew, when the news finally leaked out. And the underground, which had been suspiciously quiet, would act. And then…

We might be on the verge of losing , he thought. And in doing so, we might lose everything .

His intercom chimed. “Yes?”

“My Lord, we picked up a message,” Sharon said. “Gwendolyn and Pompey have returned to Sol. They are requesting to speak with you as soon as possible.”

“Have them sent here, then hold my calls,” Tiberius ordered. “Unless the rebels are about to attack, I don’t want to know about it.”

He scowled as he stared down at the city, feeling an odd spurt of envy for the pleasure-seeking aristocrats. He’d been brought up to consider them worthless, overgrown children who would never been suitable to hold authority within their families, yet they had nothing to worry about. Even those who had been junior members of the Roosevelt Family could still enjoy lives of complete luxury. Their family might have collapsed, but they were still taken care of. But that might be about to change.

It was nearly an hour before Sharon showed Gwendolyn and Pompey into his office. Both of them looked tired; Gwendolyn hadn’t even bothered to change into one of her more eye-catching garments. Tiberius smiled in amusement, then waited for Sharon to bring drinks and a small selection of sandwiches. He hadn’t been eating properly lately and she’d started to nag him about it.

“All right,” he said. “What did they say?”

“They’re on their way,” Gwendolyn said. “They want us to surrender, now.”

Tiberius quirked an eyebrow. “On what terms?”

“They will guarantee our lives,” Pompey said, darkly. “But they made no other promises.”

Tiberius shook his head. Even with a seemingly-invincible rebel fleet bearing down on them, it was unlikely in the extreme that the Families Council would just roll over for the rebels. They’d want more than just their lives, even if the rebels held all the cards. And they didn’t, Tiberius knew. The destruction of the Empire’s industrial base would leave the rebels with an impossible task. It would take centuries to rebuild everything the Thousand Families could destroy.

“I spoke to their leader extensively,” Gwendolyn said. “He was… resistant to my charms.”

“A man of good taste,” Tiberius teased.

Gwendolyn made a rude gesture, then continued. “The rebels are unlikely to be placated by anything short of a power-sharing arrangement, with them sitting in the cockpit,” she said. “I read them pretty thoroughly. Most of them are determined to assert themselves, even if it means prolonging the war. The former mutineers want to secure their position, the planetary rebels want autonomy at the very least and the Beyonders just want to be left alone. I do not believe we can make compromises without giving up most of our power.”

Tiberius didn’t doubt it. Gwendolyn was a good judge of character.

“I didn’t see any splits within the rebel leadership we can exploit, either,” Gwendolyn added. “They have a general plan of campaign, one they intend to follow unless we manage to hit them hard enough to force a reconsideration. I think their preferred outcome is one that will please all of the factions, or at least give them enough of their desires that they can claim victory.”

“But any of their desires would cost us greatly,” Tiberius mused. “Unless we planned to cheat them at a later date.”

“I do not believe that they would fall for any trickery,” Pompey said. He looked up, his face suddenly very serious. “They are aware of the possibility of treachery. I imagine they will take precautions to prevent us from stabbing a knife in their backs. More to the point, right now they hold the whip hand. Trying to cheat them could be disastrous.”