The radio bleeped, announcing an emergency bulletin. “This is Israel Harrison, former Leader of the Opposition and currently prime minister pro tem,” a voice said. It was so different to the voice William remembered that he honestly wondered if it really was Israel Harrison. But then, a computer-generated fake would be perfect, fooling all but the most thorough analysis. “Three hours ago, the Houses of Parliament met in concert to debate a bill to impeach the king.”
There was a pause, as if the speaker was unsure how to proceed. “The bill was never debated,” Harrison continued. “Instead, the Houses of Parliament were attacked by armed troops. Many members of both houses were killed, along with their defenders. The king, knowing that there was a good chance he’d be impeached, chose to mount a coup. His supporters made a desperate, and ultimately futile, attempt to take control of the orbital and groundside defenses. However, the king himself escaped.”
Harrison took a long breath. “We are aware that many people feel a personal loyalty to the king. We do not fault them for feeling that they should honor their oaths. But Parliament has the ultimate right to judge the king and, if necessary, remove him from his post. His actions have put him beyond the pale. It is our belief that he was responsible for provoking the war and, perhaps worse, assisting the Theocrats in an attempt to justify keeping the wartime state of emergency in existence.
“The king will be given a fair trial. We swear this on our honor. The trial will be open to the public. There will be no attempt to hide anything. The entire galaxy will see the debate and judge his guilt or innocence for itself. But he cannot be allowed to roam free. If he comes to you, take him into custody. Not for us, not for yourself, but for the good of the entire planet. The future of Tyre itself rests on you.”
“Shit,” William muttered.
Tanya looked pale. “What do we do?”
“Nothing,” William said. Thankfully both sides would probably regard Tanya as a neutral party. God alone knew what they’d make of him. “We’re out of it. All we can do is wait and see who comes out on top.”
Peter had never visited Planetary Defense’s HQ, although he, like most of the other senior aristocrats and MPs, had a standing invitation. The Royal Navy might be the king’s, but Planetary Defense was theirs. Now, it was one of the few safe places on Tyre. The king’s household troops might have been scattered, at least for the moment, but the chaos on the streets was growing worse. Too many people had heard the king’s broadcast and listened. They believed him . . .
Because they want to believe him, Peter thought. They could have coped with one crisis, but not several different crises at the same time. They want to believe that they lost their jobs because we’re all evildoers who delight in tormenting anyone below us, not because we had no choice.
“Royal Tyre is breaking orbit,” Admiral Fisher reported. His face hung in the center of the display, looking faintly out of place beside the image of the high orbitals and a dizzying series of icons that Peter couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “She’s heading straight for Violence.”
“For Kat,” Peter said.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Admiral Fisher said. “She’ll be out of engagement range in seven minutes.”
Duke Rudbek leaned forward. “Is the king on Royal Tyre?”
“I don’t know,” Admiral Fisher said. “The records show a number of shuttles traveled between the palace and the ship, but we don’t know who was actually on them. He could easily be somewhere else.”
Particularly if he assumed the defenses would fire on the ship, Peter thought. Royal Tyre was heavily defended—she’d cost twice as much as a superdreadnought—but she was far too close to the orbital battlestations for comfort. He must have assumed the worst.
“If he gets away, this has all been for nothing,” Harrison said. “We have to stop him.”
“Agreed,” Duke Rudbek said. “Admiral, you are authorized to attempt to disable his ship so she can be boarded.”
“Disabling her will be very difficult,” Admiral Fisher warned. “She’s designed to take a battering.”
“Do your best,” Duke Rudbek said. “Fire!”
Admiral Fisher frowned. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Admiral, the fortresses are targeting the Royal Tyre!”
Kat gritted her teeth. The Royal Tyre was far too close to the fortresses for comfort. One of them was even close enough to risk firing missiles on sprint mode. The odds of scoring a hit would be poor, but they could fire more than enough missiles to ensure that some would succeed.
“Prepare to launch ECM drones,” she ordered. There wasn’t anything else she could do, unless she wanted to take her fleet a great deal closer. Dueling with heavy battlestations at knife-range was not a good idea. She could hit them, in theory, if she opened fire now, but their point defense would have ample time to take countermeasures. “And . . .”
The display updated, again. “Admiral, two of the battlestations just opened fire on the others,” Kitty reported. “They’re engaging everyone within range!”
Not enough, Kat thought. The royal yacht was coming under fire. Her defenses were cutting edge, but there were so many missiles that some of them were bound to get through. The damage mounted rapidly as Royal Tyre’s shield started to fail. There’s nothing we can do, unless . . .
Royal Tyre exploded. Kat felt a stab of pain in her heart as she watched the expanding ball of plasma.
She’d liked the king. And yet . . . Her eyes narrowed. Trying to escape like that had been stupid. Very stupid. The king wasn’t stupid . . .
“Admiral, a shuttle is heading right towards us,” Kitty said. “We’re being hailed.”
Kat knew who she was going to see, even before Hadrian’s face appeared in front of her. “Kat,” he said. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” Kat said. She had to smile in relief, even though she knew that matters had just become a
