“Ah, welcome to Earth,” the rebel said, clearly feeling a little out of her depth. Carola didn’t blame her for that. The Empire’s normal way of dealing with diplomatic issues was to send in the Imperial Navy to crush any dissent. Diplomacy was a forgotten skill on Earth, although someone who had spent years as a social queen would certainly understand the principles, if she could get over the idea that social inferiors were always permanently inferior. “Might I enquire as to your intentions?”
Carola sighed with exaggerated patience. “Of course,” she said. “I intend to take up a parking orbit somewhere in orbit around Earth — yes, this entire ship is my Embassy, with diplomatic immunity under the Tau Ceti Convention — and present my credentials to the Provisional Government. Please would you designate us a parking orbit at once?”
There was a long pause. “I am transmitting a course now,” the rebel said, finally. “I must warn you that if you bring up shields and weapons so close to Earth you will be fired upon without further warning. Any sign of a hostile act will draw a lethal response.”
Her image vanished from the display. “Charming lot, aren’t they?” Carola remarked, to no one in particular. She wasn’t really annoyed. She would have been very surprised if the rebels had simply allowed them to take up low orbit without asking a few sharp questions first. “Captain, follow their course and don’t deviate. Let’s show them how obedient we can be.”
She leaned back in her chair as the battlecruiser rumbled to life, following another of the enemy — no, the rebels, she reminded herself forcibly — battlecruisers towards Earth. Space seemed to be crowded around the planet, with massive defence fortresses competing with asteroid industry nodes and giant habitations. It wasn’t much better out towards the Moon. Earth’s companion was surrounded with its own halo of asteroids and stations, while hundreds of starships buzzed around, struggling to rebuild a tottering economic base.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sheer scale of the activity. It was impressive enough, but she understood more about economics than she did about naval service and it suggested that the rebels were working frantically to rebuild their own forces. She knew better than to jump to any conclusions — there was no way to know for sure without access to some human intelligence and most of her old networks were probably in ruins by this time — but it was interesting… and worrying. If nothing else, the trip would be worthwhile because of the intelligence…
“They’ve designated a slot in high orbit, near one of the fortresses,” Captain Dayton said, breaking into her thoughts. A white icon gleamed on the display. It looked uncomfortably close to a massive fortress, large enough for four superdreadnaughts, and she had to remind herself that the display wasn’t to scale. The odds of an accidental collision would be minimal, although they would definitely be still within missile range. “I doubt that they will let us get any closer to the planet’s surface.”
Carola nodded. Even she knew the dangers of a single rogue starship so close to a planet — and, indeed, the rebels had let them get closer than she had expected. After the destruction of the eight cruisers — which, in hindsight, might have been a mistake — they had to suspect that Admiral Wilhelm was planning something, but they’d allowed her to come to the planet. They might want to know what she brought them, or perhaps they might want her to stand trial, or… she pushed the thought out of her head. There was no way to know, yet.
“Entering the gravity shadow now,” the helmsman said. Carola had expected a bump, or some feeling that would have signified that they had crossed the line, but there was nothing. The only change would come if they tried to flicker out. If they were lucky, the only thing that would happen would be the drive burning out. The consequences if they weren’t lucky didn’t bear thinking about. “They’ve got us dead in their sights.”
“As you were,” Captain Dayton growled. He was feeling the tension as well, evidently, although he still looked calm. Carola, who had had plenty of experience in keeping her face firmly under control, couldn’t have bettered it. “They’ve shown us no sign of hostility yet.”
“Good,” Carola said. She stood up and smiled. “Captain, signal the surface and request a landing site for us to meet with the provisional government so that I can present my credentials. Ask them, in particular, if they have a data package on the form of their new government that we can study. They’ll try to set a time; accept anything after two hours.”
She stepped off the bridge and allowed her bodyguards to lead her back to the cabin, where she waited until the data packet came through the starship’s computer systems, along with a note saying that the Provisional Government would be happy to meet with her in five hours. She considered, briefly, objecting, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, she wanted time to study and prepare for the meeting. She was grimly aware of just how little they knew, back at Cottbus, of the rebel government.
The data packet was surprisingly concise, which suggested that someone from outside the Thousand Families had written it. Carola knew that the Thousand Families could transform something as simple as an invitation to dinner into a two thousand-verse poem, but the data packet was simple. The Provisional Government was still taking shape, but its basic form was already clear. It might not have been style over substance, as she had feared, but it was understandable. They had decided that each world would be allowed to elect one MP, but owing to the size of the Empire only five hundred or so had come to Earth to take their seats.
It won’t be too long before they start to faction, she thought. She had half-expected a dictatorship, with a veneer of democracy, but this seemed to be the real thing. She had to caution herself that they might be lying, or deceiving themselves, but it certainly read as if the writer believed what he was writing. Public Information could not have done a better job.
She smiled. She had anticipated difficulties, but it was going to be easier than she had thought.
Chapter Eight
“She wants to do what?”
“Address Parliament,” Blondel Dupre said, calmly. “Legally, we can’t stop her, I fear.”
Colin scowled at her, feeling old. Blondel Dupre was almost unique on Earth, the only person who had a real feeling for how democracy worked in practice. She had been the First Speaker of Macore when the Empire had finally moved in to invade — after Colin had delayed the conquest by hijacking the superdreadnaughts that would have carried it out and turning them into the Shadow Fleet — and had, somehow, survived a year in hiding before Macore had been liberated. Colin had given her a position in Sector 117’s government and then made her Prime Minister of the Provisional Government. It was something he sometimes regretted.
Unlike almost everyone on Earth, Blondel had never bothered with the rejuvenation and cosmetic treatments that were available for the asking. She looked old enough to be Colin’s mother, with blonde hair that was shading towards grey, while she walked as if she was pained by old wounds. She might well have been; while Colin and the Shadow Fleet had been fighting a relatively clean war, Macore had been in the grips of the SDs and fighting a bitter insurgency against their rule. The statistics of the insurgency made grim reading, with nearly four million people killed, thousands more injured or molested by the SDs. Colin had taken an unholy glee in closing down the Security Detachments after the Fall of Earth and ending the treatments that turned young men into monstrous conscience-less creatures, but it hadn’t been in time to save their victims. The SDs had looted, raped and slaughtered their way across countless planets, earning a fearsome reputation.