He scowled, contemplating the possibilities. If the infighting between the Thousand Families became open warfare, there would be a desperate struggle over the Imperial Navy and other military facilities. The patronage networks would turn on each other, fighting a desperate war to secure control of the ships and orbital fortresses. Tiberius knew that the family had thousands of men and women in key positions, but he also knew that the other families had their own clients. There was no way to know who would come out ahead when the shit hit the fan.
His scowl deepened. They’d been running out of room to expand easily long before the rebellion at Jackson’s Folly. If the rebels had waited another fifty years, the Empire might have ripped itself apart and saved them the trouble.
“Openly, we intend to fight,” he said. “Covertly, I want you both to serve as ambassadors to the rebels. If we win, well and good; if we lose, I want to ensure that the family’s position is not badly compromised.”
“I don’t see how we can avoid being compromised,” Gwendolyn pointed out, tartly. “The rebels want our heads, preferably not attached to our bodies.”
“They will have to govern after winning the war,” Tiberius countered. “If they wanted wanton destruction, Earth would be uninhabitable by now. We can ensure a reasonably peaceful transition of power… or force them to rebuild the Empire from scratch.”
“Risky,” Pompey observed. He gave Tiberius a long considering glance. “I dare say the Families Council will not be happy about us going behind their backs.”
“They’ll be doing the same,” Tiberius predicted, dismissively. “However, we have an unfair advantage. I expect you” — he looked directly at Gwendolyn — “to take full advantage of it.”
Gwendolyn gave him a charming smile. “You place your faith in my powers of seduction?”
Tiberius produced a datachip from his pocket and dropped it on the desk. “Jason Cordova, Hero of the Underground, is a Cicero,” he said. It had taken his father plenty of time, money and effort to bury the truth, but it had all paid off. “And if family loyalty isn’t enough to gain his assistance, we know something else about him. We know a single detail that will shatter his position beyond repair.”
Pompey frowned. “If that is true,” he said, “the secret would be years out of date.”
“Trust me,” Tiberius said. It had shocked him when he’d opened the sealed file, despite considering himself prepared for anything. “This secret will never grow old.”
Chapter Three
Captain Penelope Quick — Penny to her friends and enemies alike — stared down at her hands, fighting to control the shaking. Two weeks in Imperial Intelligence’s Luna Holding Facility had been far from pleasant, even before the Mind Techs had submitted her to their interrogation procedures. Torture and beatings would have been kinder. Instead, metallic fingers had pried their way into her mind, extracting every last fragment of information from her skull. By the time they had conceded — reluctantly — that she had been telling the truth all along, the experience had damaged her mind.
Her throat hurt from screaming. That, at least, was a tangible pain. Worse, perhaps, were the ghostly delusions of broken bones, or invisible flames scorching her skin. The guards hadn’t seemed to care when she curled up in her cell, shaking helplessly as her tortured mind tormented her. Even afterwards, the memories still took their toll on her. She doubted she would ever stop shaking, no matter what she did. It had been a surprise when they had taken her out of the cell, told her to wash and dress, then placed her on a shuttle. Her new commanding officer, it seemed, was waiting for her.
She crept over to the porthole and stared into the inky blackness of interplanetary space. It was rare for a spacer to be a claustrophobe — no one who served in the Imperial Navy could be afraid of tight spaces — but Penny no longer felt comfortable in the shuttle. She had a feeling that it would be worse on the starship, even though it was probably a superdreadnaught. The Mind Techs had done untold damage to her mind, then simply let her go. Part of her wondered if they had expected to have custody of her until her mind finally gave out. They certainly hadn’t bothered to provide any treatment for the damage they’d inflicted…
Her hands started to tremble again. Angrily, she glared down at them, then looked back out of the porthole as the superdreadnaught came into view. Like all General-class superdreadnaughts, General Clive was five kilometres long, a blunt hammer of a starship studded with sensor blisters, missile tubes and energy weapons. A dozen smaller starships held close station around her hull, several of them modified light cruisers. The rebels, she knew, had converted bulk freighters into arsenal ships, giving them a colossal throw weight in the first broadside. Her new commander, whoever he was, had put her recommendation of increasing the number of escorting starships into practice. It wouldn’t be perfect, she knew, but it would give the superdreadnaught a chance to survive.
A dull shiver ran through the shuttle as it passed through the superdreadnaught’s shields, then the force field holding her atmosphere inside the shuttlebay. Penny felt her legs tremble, moments before the shuttle touched down on the deck. Gritting her teeth, she stood up and walked over to the hatch, catching sight of her reflection as she passed a display screen. She looked awful. Her long hair had been cut short to allow the Mind Techs to attach their tools, while her eyes were surrounded by dark rings that told of a lack of sleep. And her eyes themselves looked haunted…
I told them everything, she thought, remembering her desperate attempts to convince her interrogators that she was telling the truth. But they hadn’t wanted to believe her. I told them everything and they still tore my mind to shreds.
The hatch opened; she jumped backwards, feeling a flash of panic. Outside, a single young woman waited, wearing an Ensign’s uniform. Penny couldn’t help noticing — with a flicker of envy — that it was a standard uniform, without any of the careful tailoring that some commanding officers insisted on. Percival had insisted that all of his female subordinates wear uniforms intended to show off their bodies.
She staggered and almost fell as the memory overwhelmed her. The Ensign reached out for her… and Penny jumped, almost lashing out at the young woman. Penny barely heard her questions, then her urgent call to sickbay. The deck suddenly seemed warm and comforting…
The next thing she knew was that she was in sickbay, with two concerned faces looking down at her. One of them wore the standard white uniform of a naval doctor, the other wore the black uniform of an Admiral. Penny cringed away from him, her memories bubbling up inside her skull. Her head suddenly began to hurt badly, a dull throbbing that made it hard to control her thoughts.
“I cannot imagine what they were thinking,” the doctor was saying. Penny fought to listen to her, even though her ears seemed to be failing. “There’s little physical damage, but the mental damage will take weeks or months of recovery before she can even consider returning to duty.”
“I think there aren’t many people with direct experience of the rebels,” the Admiral said. He might have been wearing the same uniform as Percival, but he certainly sounded more competent. But then, Percival was not a skilled commanding officer. Was he even still alive? Penny had no idea how the Battle of Camelot had ended. “They probably thought the same.”
Penny looked up as the doctor pressed something metallic against her skull. There was a faint hiss, followed by a numbing sensation that was a welcome relief, after the pain. Penny almost sagged, her eyelids suddenly very heavy, before she forced herself to sit upright. The doctor eyed her with concern, then held out a glass of water. Penny sipped gratefully.