“Admiral Drake has also given us a victory—both victories,” he said. “And then he managed to extract most of the Retribution Force from Jefferson after it was ambushed. I submit to you that we cannot afford to lose him. We have to use him.”
Alison snorted.
“And what happens if he turns his coat and goes over to Justinian, or sets up on his own? We are talking about giving him enough firepower to wreck several planets…”
“More like entire star clusters,” Rupert said. “A single destroyer could wreck a planet or two if they weren’t defended.”
“The fact remains that he could turn on us,” Brockington said. “He may be from Mars, but his family is not well-connected. They are certainly not connected to the Senate.”
“We could find him a wife,” Alison said slowly. “There are quite a few possible candidates for a marriage which would tie him to us by blood. There isn’t even any reason why it has to be immediate. We could hold out the promise to him and delay things until Justinian is defeated—and then cancel the arrangements, if necessary.”
“I have asked my researchers to draw up an extensive psychological file on Admiral Drake,” Rupert said with a smile. He’d also spoken to Professor Kratman and some of his other allies, although that wasn’t something he was about to mention in this company. “Their conclusions were quite encouraging.”
He had their undivided attention.
“Marius Drake is a believer in the Federation; in duty, honor, loyalty…all the military virtues,” Rupert continued. “His desperation to convince us to release additional units to the Rim didn’t come from an urge to challenge us, or to encourage his own relief, but from a determination to protect the colonies from pirates and Outsiders. Drake may not be loyal to any of us, not personally, but he is loyal to the Federation—and we are the embodiment of the Federation. I believe we can count on him.
“He could have gone rogue along the Rim, or joined Admiral Justinian, or even led his ruined fleet to a different sector and set up as an independent warlord,” he pointed out when they looked unconvinced. “Instead, he chose to make his stand and hold Admiral Justinian. That is not the record of a traitor, but of a very loyal man.”
“We can use him,” Alison agreed.
“The fact remains,” Brockington growled, “that he isn’t one of us. Even if we arrange him a marriage to one of our daughters, he won’t be part of High Society.”
“We could always put in another formal commander and inform him that he is to consider himself subordinate to Admiral Drake, whatever the chain of command might say,” Alison said thoughtfully. “That would save us having to acknowledge that we owe him, at least publicly.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work.” Rupert shook his head. “In fact, it would be asking for trouble.”
“And why would that be the case?” Alison rounded on him.
“Let’s face facts, shall we?” Rupert asked. “The bonds of loyalty that held the Federation Navy together are snapping. Admiral Justinian was merely the first to attempt to seize supreme power for himself. There are at least a dozen other admirals—or Sector Governors—who might launch their own bids for power. They’re currently sitting on the fence, waiting to see what we do.
“Now tell me: how do you think they’d react when we keep replacing the one man who has bought us victories?” He smiled at their disgusted expressions. “We will be telling them that whatever grounds we use for promoting people, they don’t include either loyalty or competence. The ones who don’t have serious political connections will be wondering if they will be made to carry the can for failures or disasters caused by other people. The ones who are ambitious will start thinking how they can accomplish their aims without us, if we don’t help them. We have to send them a message—and that message has to be that we will reward loyalty, and success. Or we may as well decide that we’re going to lose most of the Federation.”
The Socialist and the Conservative looked at each other.
“Very well,” Brockington said, finally. “We will recognize Admiral Drake as he deserves.”
Rupert nodded.
“And we also have to listen to his recommendations. You saw the report he sent back to Earth. We have to honor it as much as possible.”
“He’s asking for huge monetary expenditure at precisely the time we need to reduce spending,” Brockington pointed out. “We cannot afford a new program of military construction.”
“And you think that Admiral Justinian cannot afford it?” Alison demanded. “We increase the taxes on the industrialists—call it an emergency raise in taxation, to be repealed after the war—and use it to fund the program. We’re fighting for them as well as ourselves.”
Rupert smiled as they started arguing again. Brockington was opposed to all increases in taxation on principle, if only because the industrialists provided much of his Faction’s backing. The Socialists, on the other hand, had wanted to hit the industrialists with higher tax rates for centuries. Brockington’s supporters would not be happy, not the least because there was no guarantee that the Socialists wouldn’t insist on keeping the higher tax rates after the war was over. If the Socialists used the wedge they’d been given and forced through higher taxes—and penalties, and regulations—they could cripple the economy. Worst of all, they’d be using the money they gained to buy votes by distributing government largesse into the Core Worlds, ensuring that they couldn’t be easily removed from power. The results would not be pleasant.
“With very strict limits,” Brockington said unhappily. “And we end the war as quickly as possible.”
“That may take years,” Rupert said flatly. “Admiral Drake was clear on that. We have to rebuild, train new people and produce an entire new fleet. And then we have to smash our way to Harmony and crush Admiral Justinian in his lair. All of that assumes that Admiral Justinian is the only one we have to deal with. If another admiral turns rogue, we could be looking at a nasty civil war that will last for decades.”
“And put far too much military power in the hands of Admiral Drake,” Alison observed. “There should be checks and balances.”
“Interfering with his command could cause a disaster,” Rupert reminded her. It was a point he had to keep repeating. The Senators had been absolute masters of the Federation for so long that they had problems realizing that might have changed. “We either trust him or we don’t. There isn’t a middle ground.”
“Right,” Brockington said. “We trust him—and we take a few precautions. My cousin’s youngest son is going to be promoted; right, we will promote him to commander and assign him as Admiral Drake’s aide. A Fleet Admiral needs an aide and that aide has to be well-connected himself, so he won’t be able to argue. And when the time comes that Admiral Drake is no longer needed…”
He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.
No one bothered to argue.
The banquet following the second round of meetings—when the decisions taken by the leaders were hammered out into formal proposals that would be presented to the Senate—was as elegant as Rupert could make it. His servants served a luxurious meal coupled with the finest wines from across the Federation. He allowed himself a second glass of Brigadoon Whiskey as he contemplated his success. The other two didn’t realize it, as their Factions were currently occupied in sorting out the contracts for the new wave of military construction, all of which promised vast opportunities to skim from the government funds in all manner of barely-legal ways, but he’d gotten everything he wanted.
He turned back to the table and smiled as the desserts were finally served. His maids, like the maids in all of the other mansions, wore skimpy uniforms and bracelets that marked their status as brain-burned criminals. The brain-burned—a punishment reserved only for the very worst of criminals—had no rights, but using them as personal servants was illegal. Not that it really mattered; for High Society, laws were something that happened to other people. The brain-burned made ideal servants. as they did what they were told, without question, and never betrayed their masters.