It felt like hours before the king returned, his face an expressionless mask. The prime minister followed him, looking like a dog who’d just been kicked. Peter wondered, sourly, just what they’d said to each other, in the privacy of their own chambers. Had the king decided to run roughshod over his servant’s advice? Or had he decided that the prime minister would make a suitable scapegoat for the king’s failings? Someone would have to take the fall if the king’s position was weakened . . .
“We will accept your compromise, based on the changing situation,” the king said. His voice was completely atonal. “A single major investment, geared towards defending the liberated worlds, then a phased withdrawal to Maxwell’s Haven. I trust your compromise meets with your approval.”
Harrison’s face flickered, just for a second. “It was our compromise, Your Majesty,” he said. “I daresay that not everyone will accept it calmly, but . . . it will suffice.”
The king frowned. “And will you then use the same argument to justify a withdrawal from the outermost worlds? And then the Commonwealth as a whole?”
Harrison didn’t rise to the bait. “We also intend to put forward a formal inquiry into precisely what mistakes were made over the last few months,” he added. “Even if treachery wasn’t involved, Your Majesty, it is clear that we became complacent. A number of officers may need to be . . . reassigned.”
“No doubt,” the king agreed blandly. “I’m sure a parliamentary inquiry, conducted in the full glare of publicity, will be as open and honest as you could wish.”
Ouch, Peter thought. His father had told him, once, that parliamentary inquiries existed to put a rubber stamp on the official version of events. He had no doubt that everyone involved would be fighting desperately for control of the inquiry, if only so they could either accept the official truth or find an alternate truth of their own. This will not end well.
“There are other matters to discuss,” Duke Rudbek said. “But we believe they can wait.”
And see who comes out ahead, Peter thought wryly. Opening another front right now might be disastrous if things don’t go our way.
“I agree,” the king said. “And I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”
And if that wasn’t the most insincere thing you’ve said, Peter thought as leaving formalities were exchanged, I’ll eat my hat.
No words were spoken as Peter and his allies made their way back to the landing pad, where their aircars were waiting for them. Peter climbed into his, told the driver to head back to the mansion, and activated the security sensors. A handful of tiny nanotech devices had attached themselves to him, signaling back to . . . someone. Peter felt his blood run cold. The king’s security staff were paranoid, with good reason, but they shouldn’t have maintained their surveillance after he left the king’s hunting lodge.
He reached for his datapad and skimmed through the latest set of reports as the aircar flew back towards the mansion. Thankfully, no one outside the very highest levels of society had realized that the meeting had taken place. There were no crowds of angry protesters and media figures besieging the king’s gates. And yet . . . He read through the summaries and cursed under his breath. It seemed too much to hope that society would calm down in a hurry. Too many people were about to become unemployed.
And too many others are about to throw gas on the fire, he thought, sourly. One MP had introduced a bill to repatriate—deport, in other words—every foreign worker. But it had been so poorly drafted that the law would have demanded the immediate termination of people the corporations and the military needed. If we don’t get control soon, someone else will take control himself.
The aircar landed. He walked through a security field, feeling a little better when the three nanobugs were unceremoniously removed. They’d made his skin crawl, even though he’d known the feeling was psychosomatic. The bugs were too tiny to see with the naked eye, smaller even than flecks of dust or dead skin, a reminder of just why there were so many laws surrounding privacy. A person’s life could become public knowledge very quickly if they were targeted for surveillance. He didn’t want to think about how they might be misused.
“They were mil-spec gear, sir,” his security officer said. “I’d say they were top-of-the-line stuff.”
“I know,” Peter said. “Have you swept the mansion today?”
“Yes, and we have a continuous sensor watch,” the security officer assured him. “If you’d taken the bugs indoors, sir, we would have detected them.”
“Very good,” Peter said. He was no stranger to industrial espionage, as the corporations often sharpened their claws on each other, but this was a dangerous escalation. “Sweep the aircar, just to be sure, then send me a full report. I want to be sure we can keep these bastards out of our secure rooms.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said. “I should point out, though, that it can be very hard to detect one that isn’t transmitting.”
“Yes,” Peter said. His skin itched. Was there a fourth bug? Listening quietly to everything he said, but waiting until he was back outside before it started to signal its master? The scanners would have picked it up, wouldn’t they? “Send a warning to the other corporations and politicians. Let them know what we found.”
He supposed that the nanobugs could have been left attached to him by accident. It was also possible that someone had been trying to please the king by acting without formal orders. But he didn’t believe it.
And then we will have to start a more serious discussion, he thought. And decide if we can formally vote to impeach the king.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AHURA MAZDA
“The remainder of the convoy is safely under the planetary defenses,” Lieutenant Kitty Patterson said. “But their escort has been badly battered and requires reinforcements.”
Kat glared
