“The rebels also uploaded a message into the Interstellar Communications Network,” Porter continued. “The message, in short, incited mutiny among others outside Sector 117. By now, we have received reports of hundreds of mutinies and small uprisings on thousands of worlds. At worst, we could be looking at the loss of a third of our combat-capable units to the rebels.”
Tiberius heard someone swear out loud. He couldn’t blame him.
“Right now, we do not know how far the rebellion has spread,” Porter concluded. “We are persistently six months out of date. The last message we received suggested that rebel ships had reached Sector 69, which is on a direct line to Earth from Camelot. However, we do not have a comprehensive picture of their movements. They might easily have advanced closer to Earth.”
Tiberius had no illusions about the Empire’s popularity. It had none. The only saving grace had been that the different underground factions had been unable to unite into a coherent threat. Imperial Intelligence had worked hard to keep them at loggerheads, sometimes passing up on the opportunity to wipe them out just so the underground remained disunited and harmless. But now… the underground had a leader and hope. If a third of the Imperial Navy had fallen into rebel hands, the Thousand Families were staring defeat in the face.
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…