But we already won the war, Peter thought. Didn’t we?
“And even if that wasn’t true, let us consider the misery heaped on Judd. The Theocrats killed hundreds of thousands and condemned hundreds of thousands more to starvation and death. Do you think it will stop there? If we withdraw our forces, if we allow the enemy to run rampant, millions—billions—of people will die. They will die because we abandoned them! And if the Theocrats manage to reestablish the Theocracy, what then? Will we be forced to refight the war in fifty years? Or a hundred? Let us settle the matter now!
“This is not a time for petty party politics. This is not a time for bickering over tiny issues or for putting personal disputes ahead of serious issues. This is a time to reach forth and claim the fruits of victory! Lives—countless innocent lives—depend upon us! Will we refuse the challenge? Or will we continue the good fight until it is truly won?”
He sat, firmly. The rest of the chamber sat too. Peter frowned inwardly, silently replaying the speech in his head. The king had made a good case, he had to admit, but it was long on emotional calls to action and short on hard detail. There were a great many issues that would have to be addressed, starting with the balance of power within the Commonwealth, that he hadn’t even mentioned. Peter suspected that boded ill for the future. If the king had chosen not to mention these details . . .
Or if he didn’t know he had to mention them, Peter thought. Tyre had been able to build a mighty navy, but only because it had a substantial economic and financial base. That might be more worrying.
Arthur Hampshire rose, his eyes scanning the chamber. The prime minister looked distinctly nervous, although he was trying to hide it. Peter felt a flicker of unwilling sympathy. Client or not, Hampshire probably had a better appreciation of the political realities than his royal master. And, perhaps, an understanding that he would be the scapegoat if the king’s political gambit went disastrously wrong. Peter couldn’t help wondering just how much input Hampshire had been allowed into the budget. The king might not have taken his opinions seriously.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Peter’s father had warned him, time and time again, that he had to let his people talk freely, even when they disagreed with him. Indeed, Lucas Falcone had made it clear that disagreement—constructive disagreement—was often more valuable than fawning praise. But staffers, people who could be fired at any moment, were often reluctant to speak frankly to their bosses. It was safer to be a yes-man than risk openly contradicting your supervisor. A man who was dismissed for speaking his mind too bluntly would have trouble finding employment elsewhere.
And Dad went out of his way to teach me the dangers of getting too full of myself, Peter thought ruefully. He hadn’t enjoyed learning that the only reason vast numbers of girls and boys had thrown themselves at him had been because of his family wealth, but he had to admit that he’d needed the lesson. He’d definitely been getting too full of himself. I wonder if the king learned the same lesson?
Hampshire cleared his throat. “It is vitally important that we pass the budget as quickly as possible,” he said flatly. “His Majesty is not looking for a debate. There is simply too much to be done.”
An angry rustle echoed around the chamber. Peter resisted the urge to smirk or roll his eyes. That had been a misstep, all right. Parliament might or might not be inclined to pass the budget without significant changes, but the MPs wouldn’t be pleased with the suggestion that they shouldn’t debate the issues. No one wanted to write the king—or anyone—a blank check. Too much money had been wasted or expended on classified projects during the war. Peter had been assured that new technology would be entering the civilian sphere soon, but he wasn’t sure he believed it. The military presumably wanted to maintain its edge as much as possible. Besides, with the financial downturn, the likelihood that anything new would save Tyre from a recession was minimal.
Hampshire droned on, outlining a budget that Peter knew wouldn’t pass without substantial modification. Subsidies to the outer worlds and the liberated worlds were to be increased, the naval budget was to be expanded . . . item after item, each one a serious issue in its own right. The whole budget was an indigestible bulk. Peter studied Hampshire thoughtfully, wondering just how the prime minister had managed to drop the ball. He should have warned the king that there was no way the budget would pass.
And there are to be no reductions in tax either, Peter thought as Hampshire finally came to an end. The details of the bill popped up on his datapad. That alone will doom it.
He skimmed through it quickly, wondering if there was any way to modify the bill. The government would need to keep the wartime taxes in order to fund its projects, which wouldn’t please the House of Lords; the government would be spending money in the Commonwealth or the Theocratic Sector rather than Tyre, which wouldn’t please the House of Commons. They’d be united by shared dislike of the bill. Peter shook his head in disbelief. The king had to know the budget would never go through. Only a complete idiot would think otherwise.
The king might be trying to manipulate events so we have to bargain him down, Peter considered. It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. But it’s politically risky.
Israel Harrison rose. “If it pleases my honorable friend,” he said, “there are a number of points that need to be made before we get to the meat of the matter.”
He paused, just long enough to allow his words to echo around the chamber. “We in Opposition were reluctant to grant any
