Colin lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know why?”
“I can’t get a bug into the Cicero Residence in the High City,” Anderson admitted. The failure gnawed at him, even though he had learned, rapidly, just how experienced the Thousand Families were at security matters. They had had no choice. Their rivals had seen to that. “All I can tell you is that the shortest time they spent together in private was two hours and the longest time was nine hours. Just what they were discussing…”
“I see,” Colin said, finally. Anderson realised, suddenly, that he hadn’t known until now. It would be nice to believe that it was something innocent, but somehow he had difficulty believing that it was friendship, or even romance. Tiberius, after all, had an engagement now, to a girl called Alicia. “They might have been discussing the shipping crisis.”
“Perhaps,” Anderson said. He had to admit that it was a likely story. The Cicero Clan had been hit badly by the sudden shortage of shippers — after they’d decided to revert to being freelance and join the Freebooters League. “I still don’t like it. They could be discussing anything.”
“I know,” Colin said, “but is that grounds for stopping them?”
Anderson considered it. Imperial Intelligence would have been suspicious of any ‘secret’ conversations and meetings, forcing some commanders to work overtime to ensure that they had invited all the spies to their meetings… or the spies would have told their superiors about the ‘secret’ meetings. Colin, on the other hand, had grounds for paranoia that far exceeded all the Thousand Families, but he was determined not to create a police state. Imperial Intelligence was being brutally reformed. They would not be permitted to waste time while the Provisional Government was reshaping the Empire, let alone influence the outcome and play kingmaker.
“I wish I knew,” he concluded. His instincts were telling him that something was wrong, but he couldn’t take that to Colin, could he? “Now, the current state of play regarding the reporters…”
Chapter Six
The Cicero Residence was in the better parts of the High City (of course) and looked as spectacular from the outside as it was luxurious on the inside. It wasn’t necessary for the Clan Head to reside within the High City, and aircars ensured that they could assemble in the city at a moment’s notice, if they felt the urge, but Tiberius had always liked the Residence. He had fond memories of his early years as a younger son, learning the ropes of high society, while aware that he wouldn’t inherit the Headship. It had been a nasty surprise when his father had died, along with his elder brothers, leaving him in line for the succession, but he liked to think that it had given him a certain practical bent. He had had a surprisingly good war.
He’d been the person who had convinced the Thousand Families to seek a truce after the destruction of Home Fleet and the Fall of Earth, offering to trade their political power in exchange for being allowed to keep most of their economic rights. He hadn’t expected that it would be accepted — he’d originally suggested offering the truce before Home Fleet had been blown to flaming plasma, when the Families still had something to bargain with — but the rebels had agreed to his plan. It had given Tiberius a considerable degree of leverage, which he’d used ruthlessly to ensure that the terms of the agreement were honoured.
Not everyone had agreed. Lady Madeline Hohenzollern, ‘Lady’ Stacy Roosevelt — who was the Roosevelt because no one else wanted the title — Lord Bernadotte, Lord Edison and Lady Mecklinbourgh had all vanished, he suspected some long distance from Earth. Others had remained on the sidelines, watching and waiting to see who came out ahead, while still others refused to believe that anything had changed. Tiberius had found himself respected, but not loved, representing people he suspected were plotting his death. They had already killed his father, years before the rebellion had arisen to shake the very boundaries of the Empire. Now…
He looked over at the woman perched on the edge of her chair. She wore nothing, but a standard shipsuit, with the gold ring of a Captain embroidered on her shoulder. She looked young, about twenty-one years old, with long red hair that reached down her shoulders towards her rear, but he refused to make the mistake of underestimating her. Daria, in her previous incarnation as the Empress Janice, had ruled the Empire for ten years, before she had been finally disposed and forced to flee. Merely surviving, when every man’s hand was turned against her, was impressive enough, but she’d built a new power base out along the Rim… and maintained a conspiracy of friends and allies, including Tiberius’s father, on Earth. She’d told him, when they’d first met openly, that her loyalty was to the Empire, but there were times when he wondered. Daria was the strangest person he’d met… and perhaps the most ruthless.
“Is Admiral Wilhelm one of yours?”
Daria shook her head slowly. “No,” she said, flatly. Tiberius wished, not for the first time, for more life experience. He’d been too young when he’d become the Clan Head and Daria was old enough, like so many of the other Clan Heads, to be his grandmother. Of course, no one was really sure how old she actually was. He’d accessed her records, very quietly, but almost everything of importance had been scrubbed from the files. That alone bespoke of vast influence. “He’s someone who rose to power during my exile.”
Tiberius nodded. For the moment, at least, he might as well believe her. “And so… what are we going to do about him?”
Daria shrugged. “Colin intends to follow my advice and crush him before he becomes a serious threat, or a more serious threat,” she said, almost as if it was an unimportant issue. “I don’t intend to prevent him from carrying out his intentions, if that’s what you’re asking. Indeed, we don’t want more players in the game, do we?”
She smiled, openly. “There are already too many players in the game,” she added. “We can afford to watch and wait… for the moment.”
“I suppose,” Tiberius said, thoughtfully. “And when do we make our move?”
“Patience, young grasshopper,” Daria said, mildly. “We’ve waited for a chance to reform the Empire for so long that we can afford to wait a little longer, can’t we? You and I are going to be good servants of the new order until the time comes to reshape it to our specifications, or we’re no longer needed.”
“If Colin does the work for us,” Tiberius added. “Do you think that that’s going to happen?”
“The Empire is too large to change quickly,” Daria said. “Tell me something. Colin is one person. What makes his grip on power so absolute?”
“The same thing that made you so powerful,” Tiberius said. He’d been giving the matter some thought. “Control of Home Fleet and the planetary defences.”
“I imagine that the Shadow Fleet would be quite insulted to be referred to as Home Fleet, but you’re correct,” Daria agreed, mildly. “Colin’s control over the system is effectively absolute, even if he is careful not to flaunt that in everyone’s face. A conflict between Colin and Admiral Wilhelm, who is apparently an ambitious son of a bitch, is not necessarily to our disadvantage. As long as Wilhelm doesn’t actually win…”
“Colin might be able to punch him out quickly,” Tiberius said. His understanding of naval matters was limited — he knew and trusted Admiral Wachter, who was an old family friend, but he had the feeling that approaching Joshua would have been fatal — but he knew how successful the Shadow Fleet had been. “What happens then?”
“I read Admiral Wilhelm’s file carefully,” Daria said, and Tiberius cursed himself. It was easy to forget that Daria’s previous post had been commander of Home Fleet… and that she’d been an experienced Admiral. Reading between the lines would have been easy for her. “He isn’t incompetent, even though he was clearly a Hohenzollern client, and shouldn’t make any incompetent mistakes like leaving Cottbus open to attack. Unless Colin manages to dig up several additional superdreadnaught squadrons, the war will last at least six months, during which time we will be able to lay the groundwork for our own plans.”