"The IBI would be... resistant to that," Temu Jin said. "Most of it, anyway; I suppose you could always find a few people who always secretly hankered to play storm trooper," he added reluctantly.
"And if you did find them, and you could impose your reign of terror, the Empire you're fighting for—the Empire they died for—" she gestured at the Marines, "would be gone. There'd be something there with the same name, but it wouldn't be the Empire that Armand Pahner served."
"I see the point you're trying to make," Roger said with manifest reluctance. "And I'll bear it in mind. But I reiterate; anyone associated with this plot, by omission or commission, and anyone associated with accepting, creating, or supporting defective military gear—with knowledge, and for profit—is going up against the wall. Understand that, Eleanora. I will not enact a reign of terror, but the point will be made, and made hard. I will put paid to this... evil rot. We may have to do it by eating soup with a knife, but we will eat the entire bowl. To the dregs, Eleanora. To the dregs."
Those eyes of polished brown stone swept the beings seated around the conference table like targeting radar, and silence hovered for a handful of fragile seconds.
"We will if we win," Julian said after a moment, breaking the silence.
"When we win," Roger corrected flatly. "I haven't come this far to lose."
"So how, exactly, do you propose to go about not losing?" Sroonday asked.
The meeting had gone on well into the afternoon, with a brief break for food served at the table by members of the admiral's family. The "External Security Minister" was the Alphane equivalent of the head of their external intelligence operations, and it had brought a wealth of information with it. The most important, from Roger's perspective, was the nature of the newly reformed "Empress' Own."
"Household troops?" Roger asked, aghast.
"Well, that's what the Empress' Own always have been, after all," Eleanora said.
"But these are Adoula's paid bully-boys," Kosutic pointed out. "They're from his industrial security branches, or else outright hired mercenaries." She shook her head. "I expected a whole hell of a lot better than this out of someone in Adoula's position. Most of them have no real military training at all. For all intents and purposes, they're highly trained rent-a-cops—used to keeping workers in line, breaking up labor riots, and preventing break-ins. The Empress' Own was composed of the best fighters we could find from throughout the entire Marine Corps. Troops trained to fight pitched battles, and then trained to think in security force terms and given a bit of polish and a pretty uniform."
"Agreed," Admiral Ral said with the Althari equivalent of a nod.
"Either we've been overestimating his military judgment," Eleanora said, "or else his hold on the military is even weaker than we'd dared hope."
"Reasoning?" Roger asked. She looked at him, and he shrugged. "I don't say I disagree. I just want to see if we're thinking along the same lines."
"Probably." The chief of staff tipped her chair back slightly and swung it in a gentle side-to-side arc. "If Adoula actually thinks the force he's assembled is remotely as capable as the real Empress' Own, then he's a certifiable lunatic," she said succinctly. "Admittedly, I didn't really know the difference between a soldier and a rent-a-cop before we hit Marduk, but I certainly do now. And someone with his background ought to have that knowledge already. But if he does, and if he's chosen to build the force he has anyway, it strongly suggests to me that he doesn't believe he can turn up sufficient troops willing to be loyal to him—or to close their eyes to the irregularities of what's going on in the Palace—from the regular military. Which, in turn, means that his control of what you might call the grass roots of the military, at least, is decidedly weak."
"About what I was thinking," Roger agreed.
"And either way, the first good news we've had," Ral said.
"True. But the Palace is still a fortress," Eleanora pointed out. "The automated defenses alone could hold off a regiment."
"Then we don't let the automated defenses come on line," Roger said.
"And how do we stop them?" Eleanora challenged.
"I have no idea," Roger replied, then tapped the face of a hardcopy hologram from one of the data packets the minister had brought. "But I bet anything he does."
"Catrone?" Kosutic said, looking over his shoulder. "Yeah. If we can get him on our side. The thing to understand is that the Palace's defenses aren't one layer. There are sections of the security arrangements I never knew, because I was in Bronze Battalion. You're a senior member of Bronze, you learn the defenses Bronze needs to know. Steel knew more, Silver more than Steel. The core defenses were only authorized to Gold, and Catrone was the Gold sergeant major for over a decade. Not quite the longest run in history, but the longest in recent history. If anyone knows a way to penetrate the Palace, it's Catrone."
"Putting all your faith in one person, with whom you have no significant contact, is unwise," Sroonday pointed out. "One does not build a successful strategy around a plan in which everything must go right."
"If we can't get Catrone's help, we'll find another way," Roger said. "I don't care how paranoid the Palace's designers were, there'll be a way in. And we'll find it."
"And your Home Fleet?" Edock asked.
"Strike fast enough, and they'll be left with a fait accompli," Roger pointed out. "They're not going to want to escalate to the point of nuking the Palace with Mother inside, and if they don't act immediately, we'll have news media and reasonably honest politicians all over it before they can do anything else. Home Fleet doesn't have a sizable Marine contingent, and there's a reason for that. They could nuke the Palace—assuming they could get through the surface-to-space defenses—but I'd be interested to see the reactions among the officers who heard the order. And that assumes we can't checkmate them, somehow."
"Take out Greenberg, for starters," Julian said. "And Gianetto. We'll have to get control of the Defense Headquarters, anyway."
"And a base?" the Phaenur asked.
"We've got one," Kosutic replied. Sroonday looked at her, and her mouth twitched in a tight grin.
"We've been talking about the Palace's security systems, but security for the Imperial Family isn't about individual structures, no matter how intimidating they may be. It's an entire edifice, an incredibly baroque and compartmentalized infrastructure which, for all intents and purposes, was directly designed by Miranda the First."
"With all due respect, Sergeant Major," War Minister Edock said, "Miranda the First has been dead for five hundred and sixty of your years."
"I realize that, Minister," Kosutic said. "And I don't mean to say that anything she personally designed is still part of the system. Mind you, it wouldn't really surprise me if that were the case. Miranda MacClintock was a bloody dangerous woman to get pissed off, and the terms 'incredibly devious' and 'long-term thinking' could have been invented expressly for the way her mind worked. But what I meant was that she was the one who created the entire concept of the Empress' Own, and established the philosophy and basic planning parameters for the Imperial Family's security. That's why things are so compartmentalized."
"Compartmentalized in what sense, Sergeant Major?" Edock asked.