William nodded in agreement. If they located the enemy base, Kat could take her superdreadnoughts there and smash the Theocratic fleet into rubble. The move wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it would deal with the immediate crisis. And if the only thing they had to worry about, after that, was pirate raiders . . . well, he’d be relieved. He could handle pirates.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said. “And good luck.”
“You too,” Kat said. “You’ve done very well here.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
TYRE
Father definitely had the right idea, Peter thought as he listened to yet another long-winded Member of Parliament droning on about his constituency’s interests. There’s no reason I couldn’t vote by proxy, or even have each debate summarized for me . . .
He glanced at his datapad, wondering when, if ever, the MP for Hawking Park would get to the point. It felt like he’d been talking for hours, despite the speaker putting a strict time limit on speeches. The man definitely loved the sound of his own voice. Peter rather thought he’d said the same thing over and over again. By the time the MP sat, to a ripple of relieved applause, Peter was nursing a pounding headache.
The speaker stood. “The Honorable MP for Gridley wishes to propose a Private Member’s Bill.”
Peter sat upright, feeling a sudden flicker of excitement. Anyone could propose a PMB, but it wouldn’t be put up for debate unless a handful of other MPs had already agreed to sponsor it. And then . . . the MP was gambling. If his bill didn’t receive a certain level of support from the Houses of Parliament, according to the rules, he’d have to face a vote of confidence from his constituents. The MP for Gridley—an independent MP, according to the man’s file—was taking a huge chance. His constituents might not thank him for failing to represent them properly.
Particularly as an independent will have problems getting the backing to get anything done, Peter thought. Party MPs had much more clout. They may come to regret electing an independent.
“Honorable Speaker, Honorable Members, I will be brief,” the MP for Gridley said. “We have spent the last week dancing around the question of passing the budget bill and arguing—pointlessly, I daresay—over our duty to the liberated worlds. To me, the issue is not up for debate. The liberated worlds are not members of the Commonwealth, we have no treaties with them that we should honor . . . and, as many others have pointed out, what commitments were made were made without Parliament’s consent.”
Dangerous waters, Peter thought, amused. The MP hadn’t mentioned the king, but everyone knew who’d made the commitments. His career will either rise to terrifying heights or come crashing down in flames.
“I say that we have no commitments,” the MP for Gridley said, his voice rising. “And I say that we have no interest in trying to civilize the barbarians. The people of Ahura Mazda do not want to live in a civilized society, and all our efforts to impose a new order on them are doomed to failure. There is literally nothing to be gained by an expensive commitment to the liberated sector. The Royal Navy exists to protect our worlds and our shipping. It does not exist to play galactic policeman!”
He paused, significantly. “I propose the immediate withdrawal of our ships and our bases from the Theocratic Sector. Let the locals handle their own defense, if they are so inclined; let the barbarians wallow in their own barbarism. The Theocracy is gone. In time, they will evolve newer and better ways to live. We should not believe that we have a duty to assist them. Even if we did, they have shown us what they think of our . . . assistance.
“Honorable Speaker, I request that we move to an immediate vote,” he concluded. “Let the matter be decided now, once and for all.”
Peter sucked in his breath. Another gamble, on top of the first? The MP had to be confident of victory. But there was no reason to be confident. Peter’s analysts believed that, at most, only a third of the MPs would support immediate withdrawal. The House of Lords was keeping their cards closer to their chests, as always, but Peter doubted that they’d be keen to support the bill. The corporations had made a number of loans to the liberated worlds.
Loans we couldn’t expect to have repaid if the sector collapses into chaos, Peter thought. They weren’t big loans, not compared to the amount of money that would be needed to rescue Cavendish, but collectively they were quite significant. And chaos on the far side of the Gap might easily spread into our territories.
His datapad bleeped, inviting him to cast a vote. Should the proposed bill be put to an immediate vote or not? He smiled, humorlessly. They were voting on whether or not they should be allowed to vote on the bill. No, he corrected himself. That wasn’t quite accurate. They were trying to decide if the bill should be put to the vote now or later, the latter giving anyone who disagreed with the bill time to organize resistance. It made him wonder if there were ties between the bill’s proposer and Israel Harrison. The Leader of the Opposition might have dreamed up the whole scheme to challenge the king without revealing his hand too openly.
Something to consider, he told himself as he voted nay. No one takes such a gamble unless they’re convinced of powerful support.
He allowed himself a sigh of relief as the nays had it, two to one. Too many MPs hadn’t liked the idea of being forced to vote on a bill without debating first, even if it meant more long-winded speeches. Peter checked his datapad once again, noting when the debate had been scheduled. There would be plenty of time to organize resistance . . . if,
