“We have been carrying out a prolonged financial assessment of the corporation and its subunits over the last two months,” Alexander said. He had an aristocratic burr to his voice, although it was strong enough for Peter to be reasonably sure it was an affectation. The two men had been born commoners. “Our conclusions have been extensively detailed . . .”
“Summarize them,” Peter snapped. “What is the problem?”
Alexander tapped a switch. A giant holographic chart shimmered into existence. It looked like a galaxy, featuring hundreds of planets orbiting countless stars, but it was in fact far more detailed. Peter sucked in a breath as he studied the image, feeling a flicker of the old awe. The hologram in front of him was the Falcone Corporation, from the industries owned directly by the family to the sidelines, from people who worked for the family to a network of clients who didn’t know where their patronage chains actually ended. It was hard, even for someone who’d grown up surrounded by wealth and power, to trace the tangled threads from one end of the display to the other. Peter didn’t know how his father had endured his role for so long.
He liked the idea of being a spider at the center of the web, Peter thought. And he knew which threads he needed to pull if he wanted something.
“We have two main problems, at the moment,” Alexander said. He centered the display on a profit-loss statement. “First, in the short run, our military contracts are going to come to an end within the next twelve months. I’ve heard that the military is already trying to figure out ways to get out of the contracts early, as they don’t need the ships, weapons, and components any longer. We may be able to rationalize some of the contracts down to a more reasonable level without losing them altogether, but it seems unlikely that we will have many military contracts by the end of the year. There simply isn’t any need for them.”
“I see,” Peter said.
“What makes this worse,” Alexander added, “is that the bulk of the military production line cannot be converted for other markets. A third of the technology we produce is thoroughly embargoed for civilian use, at least not without extensive licensing, while the remainder doesn’t have much use for civilians. They don’t need military-grade sensor suites, particularly when the mil-grade equipment is five or six times as expensive as the civilian models.”
Peter tensed. “I was under the impression that military gear was highly sought after.”
“It is,” Alexander said. “But smaller companies and independent freighter captains also have limited funds. We’ve been looking at ways to reduce prices, in hopes of picking up extra sales, but we’re already running on the margins as it is. The military contracts were relatively steady, sir. They weren’t going to make us rich.”
“We did cream a profit, didn’t we?” Peter studied the charts for a long moment. “I believe the money was reinvested.”
“It was,” Alexander confirmed. “But the vast war machine we built to fight the war is no longer required.”
And so we have to scale back our operations, Peter thought. Which is going to be very bad.
Clive cleared his throat. “The second problem is that we, and most of the other corporations, are going to have to cut costs sharply. This will necessitate getting rid of a great many subdivisions, and people. A considerable number of employees will have to be downsized and . . .”
“You mean sacked,” Peter said sharply.
“Yes, sir,” Clive said. “We may have to lay off up to 30 percent of our workforce.”
Peter swallowed, hard. The age-old contract between employers and employees was about to be broken. They’d promised the workers that they’d take care of them, hadn’t they? A job with a big corporation was a job for life. Peter’s father had aggressively encouraged his subordinates to seek out new talent and promote it, encouraging ambitious youngsters to rise to the limits of their competence. A man could start on the ground floor and climb to the very top. Peter’s former office had contained a whole string of success stories that had boosted the corporation’s profits and given hope to the workers that competence would be rewarded.
But not now, he thought. No one was fired without due cause. God knew the corporation worked hard to put square pegs in square holes. What will happen when we tell 30 percent of our people that they have to go?
“It may get worse,” Clive added, slowly. “If the rumors about Cavendish are true . . .”
Peter gritted his teeth. There was a yawning financial black hole at the very heart of the Cavendish Corporation. Duke Cavendish was doing everything in his power to patch together the cracks in the edifice, but he might as well be putting a tiny plaster on a broken arm. It wouldn’t be long before people, important people, started jumping ship. And once that happened, the Cavendish Corporation was doomed. Millions of people would be out of work.
“There will be a planetary economic downturn,” Clive said. “If vast numbers of people lose their jobs, they’ll stop buying things; if people stop buying things, more and more sub-businesses will go bust. And then, chaos.”
“And there’s no way we can save even part of Cavendish,” Peter said. Cavendish was technically a rival, but if one ducal corporation went under, the others would tremble. “We can’t afford it.”
“No, sir,” Alexander said. “We could snap up a few of their subdivisions, at bargain- basement prices, but the cost of saving even a small percentage of their operations would bankrupt us.”
Clive nodded. “What makes matters worse, sir, are the subsidies. And the military tax.”
Peter winced. “How do you imagine they’ll play out?”
“It depends on the politics.” Alexander looked acutely uncomfortable. “The military tax has not—yet—been repealed. If it isn’t repealed, for whatever reason, it will be yet another expenditure we
