“And the planets were in dire straits,” William said softly. “How bad is it?”
Kat winced. “Dorland is going to have to be evacuated,” she said. “The planet was barely sustainable even before the Theocracy arrived. Now . . . there’s no way they can rebuild before they run out of supplies. I’ve detailed a considerable number of transports to evacuate the population, but I have no idea where to put them. No one seems to be interested in providing homes for refugees.”
“The nearby worlds had too many immigrants dumped on them during the occupation,” William said. “It’s easy to see them as nothing more than troublemakers.”
“No one here wants them,” Tanya confirmed. “How long would it be until the planet was no longer ours?”
Kat opened her mouth to point out that there was an empty continent on the far side of Asher Dales that could accommodate millions of refugees, but closed it again without saying a word. The UN had dumped hundreds of thousands of unwanted settlers on dozens of worlds, without bothering to check if the original settlers wanted them. It had been a major cause of the wars. Now, every world had the right to determine if it would or wouldn’t take refugees. She couldn’t ignore their wishes without sparking off yet another crisis.
I could just dump them on a stage-one colony, she thought. But could they even be fed long enough to integrate?
She shook her head in frustration. Modern technology could feed the refugees, but where could she put them? There was no easy answer. A handful of refugees with vital skills could be accommodated, she was sure, but what about the others? And, with the enemy fleet running around attacking randomly, it was quite possible the refugees would move from the frying pan into the fire. Perhaps she could find a way to bribe a world to take them. But it would have to be a very big bribe.
William changed the subject, quickly. “Have you been following events on Tyre?”
“Yeah,” Kat said, silently relieved. “Having a StarCom isn’t an unmixed blessing, is it?”
“A commander’s authority can no longer be absolute,” William agreed. “You can now be bossed around by someone on the other side of the galaxy.” He leaned forward. “But what is happening on Tyre?”
Kat met his eyes. “The king is trying to deal with the situation here”—she waved a hand in the air—“and the politicians are trying to stop him.”
William looked back at her. “Perhaps,” he said. “But it’s also true that the king is demanding too much.”
“I would have thought you’d be on his side,” Kat said. “He’s the one supporting colonial officers. And colonial development.”
“I can see his point,” William agreed. “But Kat . . .” He looked down, just for a second. “I only met the king once,” he reminded her. “I mean . . . I saw him a few times, but I only met him once. That was when I was knighted. And the impression I had, in that brief meeting, was that he was a junior officer who was in way over his head. It’s not something uncommon.”
Kat nodded. She’d made her fair share of mistakes and outright screw-ups when she’d been a junior officer herself. Having to explain to a cold-eyed superior that something absurd had, in fact, sounded perfectly reasonable at the time had not been the highlight of her life. The only good that had come out of the mistakes was learning not to let her enthusiasm get in the way of common sense.
“But the king isn’t a junior officer,” she pointed out. “He’s . . . he’s the king.”
“And yet, the principle is the same,” William countered. “Here he is, desperately demanding everything he wants, rather than trying to get everything he needs. It’s a common mistake for young officers, just on a much larger scale. And I fancy no one could teach him what he needed to know before he took the throne. He doesn’t have any actual experience, does he?”
“I don’t think so,” Kat said. She knew the king had never been in the military, but he could easily have been involved with his father’s diplomacy. “He’s trying to deal with a growing crisis.”
“Which he made worse,” William said. He corrected himself. “No, he’s making worse.” He ran his hand through his hair. “That’s typical junior officer behavior,” he added. “He makes a mistake, and then he makes another mistake in trying to cover it up, and then . . . well, before he knows it he’s in quicksand and sinking fast. Here . . . the king is demanding everything from Parliament, and Parliament is dragging its heels.”
Kat wasn’t sure what to make of it. She trusted William. She respected his opinion. And yet, it was the king who was trying to solve the crisis. He was pushing for increased commitments to the occupied sector, commitments that might save millions of lives. Kat would be glad of any reinforcements—the threat of being summarily withdrawn from the sector had chilled her to the bone—but even something as small as a couple of superdreadnought squadrons would go a long way towards making further attacks impossible.
“We made commitments,” she said, finally. Her father had taught her that she should always honor her commitments, even if they became inconvenient. A reputation for being unreliable, he’d said, could be far more dangerous in the long run. Besides, it wasn’t as if they’d promised to defend the sector against an overwhelmingly superior foe. “And if we pick up our toys and go home, what then?”
“The king’s enemies would say that the commitments should never have been made in the first place,” William pointed out. “He certainly never ran them past anyone who might object.”
“But they should have been made,” Kat protested. “Have you seen that hellhole? Ahura Mazda?”
“I’ve heard the news,” William said. “But can the planet be saved?” He shook his head. “I understand the urge
