Throne of Stars (65 page)

“We’ve settled out fully from the psychological, economic, and physical results of the Dagger Wars. It’s been five hundred and ninety years since Miranda the Great kicked their asses, and we haven’t had a real
war
with anyone else since, despite our periodic bouts of . . . unpleasantness with the Saints. And even those have all been out among the out-worlds. So there’s no one alive in the core-worlds who remembers a time of actual danger. We had our last serious economic crisis over a generation ago, too, and politics in the core-worlds have revolved around the strife between the industrialists and the socialists for over seventy years.

“The industrialists, by and large, are truly in it purely for the power. There’ve been times when corporations were unfairly held up as great, evil empires of greed by individuals who were simply deluded, or else intentionally using them as strawmen—as manufactured ogres, created for their own propaganda purposes. But Adoula’s cadre truly
is
in the business of seeking personal power and wealth at any cost to anyone else. Oh, Adoula has the additional worry that his home sector is right on the Saint border. That’s why he concentrates on what used to be called the ‘military-industrial complex.’ But while he might be trying to build military power, the way he goes about it is counterproductive in the extreme. The way the power packs blew up on your plasma guns, Your Highness, is a prime example, and he and his crowd are too far gone to realize that making money by cutting costs at every turn, even if it means a suicide bomb in the hands of a soldier, actually
decreases
their own security, right along with that of the rest of the Empire.

“The socialists are trying to counter the industrialists, but, again, their chosen methods are counterproductive. They’re buying votes among the poor of the core-worlds by promising more and more social luxuries, but the tax base is never going to be there to support uniform social luxury. They
get the taxes which have kept the system propped up so far by squeezing the outer worlds, because the industrialists have sufficient control in Parliament and the core-world economies to work tax breaks that allow them to avoid paying anything like the taxes they might incur if the lunatics weren’t running the asylum. At the same time, if the socialists ever did manage to impose all the taxes
they
think the corporations should cough up in order to pay for their social benefits and all the other worker benefits—like increased paid holidays and decreased workweeks—it really would cripple the economy.

“The ones getting squeezed are the out-worlds, and they’re also where most of the new economic and productive blood of the Empire is coming from. All the new devices and arts are coming from there. By the same token, they supply the bulk of the military forces, sites for all the newer military bases and research centers, and more and more manufacturing capability. That shift has been underway for decades now, and it’s accelerated steadily as local marginal business taxes in the core-worlds build up and up.

“But the out-worlds still don’t have the population base to elect sufficient members of Parliament to prevent themselves from being raped by the inner-worlds. Nor do they have the degree of educational infrastructure found in the core-worlds, which is why the core is still supplying the elite research and business brains. The out-worlds are growing—fast, but not fast enough—and to add to all of their other problems, they’re the ones most at risk from surrounding empires, especially the Saints and Raiden-Winterhowe.

“It would be an unstable situation under the best of circumstances, and we don’t have those. The members of Parliament elected from the core-worlds are, more and more, from the very rich or hereditary political families. By now, the Commons representation from the core is almost indistinguishable from the membership of the House of Lords. They have a lot of commonality of viewpoint, and as the out-worlds’ representation in the Commons grows, the politicians of the inner-worlds see an ever-growing threat to the cozy little power arrangements they’ve worked out. To prevent that from happening, they use various devices, like the referendum on Contine’s elevation to full member-world status, to prevent loss of their power. The politics have become more and more brutal, more and more parochial, and less and less focused on the good of the Empire. In fact, the only people you see walking the walk of the ‘good of the Empire’ are a few of the MPs from the out-worlds. Adoula
talks
about the good of the Empire, but what he’s
saying
is all about the good of Adoula.

“And the real irony of it is that if any of them were capable of truly
enlightened self-interest, they’d realize just how stupid their cutthroat tactics really are. The inner-worlds, the out-worlds, the socialists, the industrialists, and the traditionalists all
need
each other, but they’re too busy ripping at one another’s throats to see that. We’re in a bit of a pickle, Your Highness, and, frankly, we’re ripe for a really nasty civil war. Symptom, not disease.”

“So what do we do about it?” Roger asked.

“You mean, if we rescue your mother and survive?” Eleanora smiled. “We work hard on getting all sides to see themselves as members of the Empire first, and political enemies as a distant second. Your grandfather decided that the problem was too many people in the inner-worlds with too little to gain. So, besides siding with the socialists and starting the trend toward heavy taxation of the out-worlds, he tried to set up colonization programs. It didn’t work very well. For one thing, the conditions on the core worlds, even for the very poor, are too comfortable, and woe betide the politician who tries to dial back on any of the privileges that have already been enacted.

“Your grandfather was unwilling to cut back there, but he had this romantic notion that he could engender some kind of ‘frontier spirit’ if he just threw enough funding at the Bureau of Colonization and wasted enough of it on colonization incentives. But the way he paid for simultaneously maintaining the existing social support programs while pouring money into colonization schemes that didn’t work was to cut all other spending—like for the Navy—and turn the screws on the out-worlds. And to get the support in Parliament that his colonization fantasies needed, he made deals with the industrialists and the aristocracy which only enhanced their power and made things even worse.

“He never seemed to realize that even if he’d been able to convince people to
want
to relocate from the core-worlds to howling wildernesses in the out-worlds, there simply aren’t enough ships to move enough of them to make a significant dent in the population of the core-worlds. And then, when he had his moment of disillusionment with the Saints’ promises to ‘peacefully coexist’ and started trying to build the Navy back up to something like its authorized strength, it made the Throne’s fiscal position even worse. Which, of course, created even more tensions. To be perfectly honest, some of the people who’re supporting Adoula right now probably wandered into treason’s way in no small part because they could see what was coming. A lot of them, obviously, wanted to fish in troubled waters, but others were seeking any port in a storm. And at least some of them, before the Old Emperor’s death, probably thought even someone like Adoula would have been an improvement.

“Your mother watched all that happening, Your Highness. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, but one of the greater tragedies of your grandfather’s reign was how long he lived. He had so much time to do damage that, by the time your mother took the Throne, the situation had snowballed pretty horrifically.

“She decided that the only solution was to break the stranglehold of
both
the industrialists
and
the vote-buyers. If you do that, you can start to make things ‘bad’ enough in the core-worlds that at least the most motivated will move out-system. And you can start reducing the taxation rape of the out-worlds and shifting some of the financial burden onto the core-world industries which haven’t been paying their own share for so long. And once the out-world populations begin growing, you can bring in more member worlds as associate worlds, which will bring new blood into the entire political system at all levels. But with the socialists and the industrialists locked together in their determination to maintain the
existing
system while they duel to the death over who controls it, that’s pretty hard.”

“It won’t be when I stand half of them up against the wall,” Roger growled.

“That . . . could be counterproductive,” Eleanora said cautiously.

“Anyone associated with this . . . damnable plot,” Roger said flatly, “whether by omission or commission, is going to face rather
partial
justice. So is anyone I find decided that the best way to make a credit was to cut corners on military gear. Anyone. I owe that debt to too many Bronze Barbarians to ever forget it, Eleanora.”

“We’ll . . . discuss it,” she said, looking over at the Phaenur.

“It’s your Empire, but I agree with the Prince,” Tchock Ral said. “The penalty for such things in our Alliance is death. To settle for any lesser penalty would be to betray the souls of our dead.”

“But a reign of terror has its own unpleasant consequences,” Eleanora pointed out. “Right now, the penalty for failure, at the highest level, is already so great that desperate chances are being taken. Or, what’s worse, the best and the brightest simply avoid reaching that level. They . . . opt out rather than subject themselves and their families to the current virulent version of Imperial politics. Only the most unscrupulous strive for high office as it is; enact a reign of terror, and that trend will only be enhanced.”

She shook her head, looking for an argument Roger might accept.

“Look, think of it as something like guerrilla warfare,” she said.

“I think you’re reaching,” Roger replied. “It’s not to
that
level yet.”

“
Yet
,” she said. “Not yet. But there’s a saying about counterguerrilla operations; it’s like eating soup with a knife. If you try to simply
break
the political alliances, by cutting up the obvious bits, then you’re going to lose, and lose hard. You’ve got to not simply break the
old
alliances; you have to establish
new
ones, and for that you need an intact political template and people to make it work. You’ve got to convince the people running the system to make the changes you recognize are necessary, and you’re not going to convince the people whose support you need that they should cooperate with you if they think you’ll have them shot if they don’t do exactly what you want. Not unless you’re willing to enact a full reign of terror, turn the IBI into a secret police to watch everyone’s actions and suppress
anyone
who disagrees with you. Turn us into the Saints.”

“The IBI would be . . . resistant to that,” Temu Jin said. “Most of it, anyway; I suppose you could always find a few people who always secretly hankered to play storm trooper,” he added reluctantly.

“And if you did find them, and you could impose your reign of terror, the Empire you’re fighting for—the Empire they
died
for—” she gestured at the Marines, “would be gone. There’d be something there with the same name, but it wouldn’t be the Empire that Armand Pahner served.”

“I see the point you’re trying to make,” Roger said with manifest reluctance. “And I’ll bear it in mind. But I reiterate;
anyone
associated with this plot, by omission or commission, and
anyone
associated with accepting, creating, or supporting defective military gear—with knowledge, and for profit—is going up against the wall. Understand that, Eleanora. I will not enact a reign of terror, but the point will be made, and made hard. I
will
put paid to this . . . evil rot. We may have to do it by eating soup with a knife, but we
will
eat the entire bowl. To the dregs, Eleanora. To the
dregs
.”

Those eyes of polished brown stone swept the beings seated around the conference table like targeting radar, and silence hovered for a handful of fragile seconds.

“We will if we win,” Julian said after a moment, breaking the silence.

“
When
we win,” Roger corrected flatly. “I haven’t come this far to lose.”

“So how, exactly, do you propose to go about not losing?” Sroonday asked.

The meeting had gone on well into the afternoon, with a brief break for food served at the table by members of the admiral’s family. The “External Security Minister” was the Alphane equivalent of the head of their external intelligence operations, and it had brought a wealth of information with it. The most important, from Roger’s perspective, was the nature of the newly reformed “Empress’ Own.”

“Household troops?” Roger asked, aghast.

“Well, that’s what the Empress’ Own always have been, after all,” Eleanora said.

“But these are Adoula’s paid bully-boys,” Kosutic pointed out. “They’re from his industrial security branches, or else outright hired mercenaries.” She shook her head. “I expected a whole hell of a lot better than this out of someone in Adoula’s position. Most of them have no real military training at all. For all intents and purposes, they’re highly trained rent-a-cops—used to keeping workers in line, breaking up labor riots, and preventing break-ins. The Empress’ Own
was
composed of the best fighters we could find from throughout the entire Marine Corps. Troops trained to fight pitched battles, and
then
trained to think in security force terms and given a bit of polish and a pretty uniform.”

“Agreed,” Admiral Ral said with the Althari equivalent of a nod.

“Either we’ve been overestimating his military judgment,” Eleanora said, “or else his hold on the military is even weaker than we’d dared hope.”

“Reasoning?” Roger asked. She looked at him, and he shrugged. “I don’t say I disagree. I just want to see if we’re thinking along the same lines.”

“Probably.” The chief of staff tipped her chair back slightly and swung it in a gentle side-to-side arc. “If Adoula actually thinks the force he’s assembled is remotely as capable as the
real
Empress’ Own, then he’s a certifiable lunatic,” she said succinctly. “Admittedly,
I
didn’t really know the difference between a soldier and a rent-a-cop before we hit Marduk, but I certainly do now. And someone with his background ought to have that knowledge already. But if he does, and if he’s chosen to build the force he has anyway, it strongly suggests to me that he doesn’t believe he can turn up sufficient troops willing to be loyal to him—or to close their eyes to the irregularities of what’s going on in the Palace—from the regular military. Which, in turn, means that his control of what you might call the grass roots of the military, at least, is decidedly weak.”