“Second, I fail to see why we should make an open-ended, perhaps even permanent, commitment to the Theocratic Sector. The commitments to which His Majesty refers were made by him, unilaterally, without the approval of either the Houses of Parliament or His Majesty’s own Privy Council. I believe a number of his older councilors resigned in protest. I do not consider the Kingdom of Tyre, or the Commonwealth as a whole, to be bound by such commitments. The king had no legal right to make them on his own authority.
“But those points pale next to the final two issues. We are facing a financial crisis of unparalleled magnitude. Whether we care to admit it or not, the strain of founding and funding the Commonwealth, and then the war, put immense pressure on our economy. We need time to breathe, not massive financial commitments that will not provide any relief for our people. And while His Majesty has chosen to present the issue in terms of dealing with a later threat, it is the considered opinion of a number of analysts that there is no danger of a Theocratic revival. Their remaining ships simply cannot remain operational for long. They may cause havoc, they may ravage the sector, but they pose no threat to us. Indeed, honorable members, the expense of waging war against the hold-outs may do more damage than the hold-outs themselves.”
He paused again. “Let us be brutally honest. This bill is not a rational response to the problems facing our world. We simply cannot afford to keep spending at our current levels. I doubt, if I may make so bold, that the trustees of the Royal Corporation will disagree with me.”
Peter had to smile as a faint ripple of amusement ran through the chamber. The king looked, just for a second, extremely displeased. Peter understood his irritation more than he cared to admit. Technically, the king ruled the Royal Corporation; practically, the trustees would put a brake on uncontrolled spending. And the Royal Corporation faced the same dangers as the others. The king might face opposition from within his own family.
“The war is over,” Harrison concluded. “It is time for us to recognize that we have won and move back to a peacetime footing. We no longer need to maintain huge fleets or sizable garrisons. Let us, instead, concentrate on repairing the damage and building for the future instead of wasting our resources on pipe dreams.”
He sat down. Peter watched him for a moment, feeling reluctantly impressed. Israel Harrison could not have known what was coming, or he would have made sure to galvanize resistance to the bill before it was ever entered on the parliamentary record. A united front would have successfully blocked the king and his servants from putting the budget in front of Parliament, let alone putting it to a vote. Instead, Harrison had to make his speech up as he went along. Thankfully, judging by the number of MPs who were even now demanding the right to speak, it didn’t look as if matters would proceed to a vote by the end of the day.
Unless the king uses his authority to demand an immediate vote, Peter thought. But would he win?
He studied the king thoughtfully, grimly certain that King Hadrian was asking himself the same question. Could he win if he pushed for an immediate vote? Peter rather doubted it, but the king had already gambled. Why not raise the stakes? But, as MP after MP rose to praise or denounce the bill, he slowly discerned that passions were running high. Too many people would vote against the bill, merely to make clear that they wouldn’t be manipulated. The king might not have lost the first round, but he certainly hadn’t won either.
And so we will find out, sooner or later, just how far the king is prepared to compromise, Peter thought. Somehow he doubted the king would be willing to do anything of the sort. He’d staked too much of his personal prestige on the bill. He wouldn’t give up easily. And just how far we might have to go to stop him?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TYRE
“I trust this room is secure?”
“My staff swept it personally,” Peter said. “And so did the others.”
He accepted a glass of brandy from one of the servitors and sat back in his chair, sipping it gratefully. His body had been extensively modified while he’d been in the exowomb, with dozens of genetic improvements spliced into his DNA, but he still had a pounding headache after spending hours in the Houses of Parliament. He’d wondered, when he was younger, why his father preferred backroom deals to open politics; now he thought he understood all too well. The matter might have been settled in an afternoon if everyone hadn’t wanted to have their say. The less formal power they wielded, the more verbose they seemed to be.
But that isn’t too surprising, Peter thought wryly. They cannot force us to do as they wish, so they have to convince us.
He wasn’t too surprised that Israel Harrison had called for a meeting after Parliament had recessed for the day, or that a simple one-on-one meeting had mushroomed into a larger gathering. Three dukes, a handful of Opposition MPs, and a couple of political researchers . . . it was more of a planning session than anything else, but a planning session for what? He couldn’t help feeling like a member of a revolutionary cabal plotting an uprising. The combination of political and economic power was enough to make even the king sit up and take notice, although he might be able to put together
