“The messages can also be relayed on the base’s courier boats,” he said, tartly. He tried to stand, but his body betrayed him and fell back into the chair. “They can take it to worlds and systems outside the network.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said. She held out a hand. “Should I help you up?”
“No,” Marius said. He gathered himself and tried to stand again. His legs felt weak, as if he was about to fall over at any second, but somehow he managed to remain balanced. “I’m not a cripple...”
“You should eat, sir,” Ginny said. “How long has it been since you ate or drank anything?”
Marius couldn’t remember. Hell, he wasn’t sure just how long he’d been in the cabin, just how long it had been since they’d blasted away from Nova Athena. The mere thought sent another jolt of pain stabbing though his head. His body had been enhanced thoroughly, first as a naval officer and then as an emperor, but he needed food and rest, perhaps not in that order. Ginny was right; he should go see the medics... yet he was too stubborn. The old distrust of starship doctors, the fear that they would relieve him of duty for not attending his physical exam, rose up in his mind. He knew he didn’t dare show weakness to anyone outside his trusted circle.
And how many of them, his own thoughts mocked him, can you trust?
He shuddered, almost losing his balance as he tottered over to the desk. He’d trusted Blake Raistlin and the young man had nearly killed him, on orders from his familial superiors. And he’d trusted Roman Garibaldi, who’d shared the same graduating class as Blake Raistlin. He made a mental note to check what had happened to the others from that class — given the attrition of two wars, there was a good chance that most of them were dead — and he sat down, feeling his legs buckle underneath him. It was unlikely he could have remained standing for much longer.
“I’ll find some food for you, sir,” Ginny said. “There’s normally something held in stasis...”
“Pass on the orders to Captain Watson first,” Marius ordered. He didn’t need food that quickly — besides, it would be a mistake to let the captain think he was incapable of command. Watson’s subordinates might have their own ideas about the future. “And then go fetch something to eat.”
He watched Ginny go, trying not to notice how her tight trousers showed off her behind. He was married, married to one of the few people he trusted... but could he trust her, really? If Tiffany was planning to betray him, too...
You have to trust someone, his own thoughts reminded him. And Tiffany could have betrayed you to her family years ago, if she’d wanted you dead.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. Tiffany was only his because her family had pushed her into marrying him, since they believed he needed a link to the Grand Senate. They hadn’t realized that Tiffany and he would wind up in an alliance to survive, or fall in love, that their marriage would become far more than just another marriage of convenience. But now, if Roman Garibaldi had betrayed him, would Tiffany do the same?
I have to get back to Earth, he thought. It’s the only way to win.
Every instinct, honed by decades of fighting the Federation’s wars, told him to take command of Boston, replenish his ships and meet Roman Garibaldi’s offensive when it came. Roman knew the laws of interstellar combat as well as Drake did; Garibaldi would know the only hope for victory was to overrun the Federation before Marius could rebuild the economy and deploy newer and better weapons from the research stations. He had to move quickly if he wanted to survive...
But if he stayed at Boston, he risked losing control of his flank.
He cursed, savagely. His attention was required in too many places, too many for him to handle personally... and yet, he couldn’t delegate responsibility to anyone else. Who could he trust? He’d promoted Roman Garibaldi over the heads of officers with more seniority, more time in grade, because he’d trusted the younger man. Now, Roman had betrayed him and... and there were no others he dared trust. He’d have to double and triple-check his precautions, just to make sure no one else could stick a knife in his back...
It struck him, suddenly, that the Grand Senate must have felt the same way. The thought made him giggle, realizing that matters had come full circle. He was now playing the same role as the Grand Senate, trying to protect the status quo while young and ambitious officers sought to destroy it. And if Roman Garibaldi had his way, Marius would be removed, just like the Grand Senate.
And Roman might even shoot him in the head — personally.
The hatch hissed open again, revealing a harassed-looking Ginny carrying a tray. “The guards insisted on me tasting everything first,” she said, as she put the tray on the table and removed the cover. Marius’s stomach rumbled as he smelled the food. “Don’t they trust me?”
“They don’t trust anyone,” Marius said, as he picked up the fork. It was unlikely that anyone had managed to slip poison into his food, but too many unlikely things had happened recently. A toxin keyed to Marius personally, thankfully, would be well beyond the reach of most would-be assassins. “But with food like this, I wonder why anyone would bother adding poison.”
He smiled as he took a bite of the food. Naval rations had never been very good, thanks to the Grand Senate ordering foodstuffs from the lowest or most-favored bidder. Indeed, he’d heard of hundreds of crews that had been discontented, before the Justinian War, because their commanding officers had been selling off the rations and, somehow, buying even worse food supplies on the black market. That, at least, had been one thing he’d been able to fix once he’d assumed control of the Federation. Making sure that captains and flag officers had to eat the same food as the lowest of crewmen had probably helped.
But you did host a feast for your officers before you departed Boston, his own thoughts reminded him. Did you make sure the lower decks got the same food then?
“It’s a great improvement,” Ginny said, carefully. “Although I’m not exactly sure what it is.”
“As long as it’s edible and reasonably tasty, it doesn’t matter,” Marius said. He’d spent most of his adult life on one starship or another. Most spacers preferred to draw a veil over precisely where most recycled food came from. “All that matters is that it will help keep you alive.”
“I still think you should go to sickbay, sir,” Ginny said. “You’re not well.”
“I can’t afford to leave my post,” Marius said. He cursed under his breath. Captain Watson could handle a transit through an Asimov Point, but if even a handful of ships tried to bar their path... he doubted the captain could deal with it. “And I have too much work to do.”
He finished his meal, then reached for his console. “Inform me when we are two hours from the Boston Asimov Point,” he ordered. “Until then, I have planning to do.”
“You should sleep,” Ginny said. “Sir...”
Marius felt a hot flash of anger. “I don’t have time,” he snapped. “Dismissed.”
Ginny saluted, then hastily beat a retreat through the hatch. Marius watched her go, then reached into his uniform pocket for the packet of pills. There were dangers in using them too often, he knew all too well, but there was no choice. He needed to stay awake.
Popping a pill into his mouth, he tapped the console and started to work.
Chapter Three
When a senior officer was deserving of such loyalty, it worked in their favor — but, when they weren’t, it only made the problems facing the Federation worse.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Nova Athena, 4101
“You’re being very quiet,” Roman observed.
“I wish I had something to say,” Elf replied. They stood together in the CIC, looking up at the giant display. Fifth Fleet was reversing course and powering out towards the system limits, where it would slip into stardrive for the short jaunt to the nearest Asimov Point. “I wish I knew which way to jump.”
Roman cocked his head at her. “Could you accept attempted genocide?”
Elf
shook her head. “There’s a difference between collateral damage, however unfortunate, and the deliberate slaughter of billions of innocents,” she said, firmly. “But I just worry about the future.”
Roman nodded, curtly. There was no point in trying to hide what they’d done. They’d gone into rebellion against the Federation, against the Emperor... just like Admiral Justinian and the other warlords. And if they didn’t succeed in defeating Emperor Marius, they would be hunted down and killed as the Federation’s vastly-greater war industry swamped them in production. He hadn’t had time to sit down and properly simulate the war, although experience had told him that simulations were rarely useful, but he had a feeling he knew what the predicted outcome would be. The Federation would win the war.
“And then there’s the Outsiders,” Elf said. “Do you really trust them?”
“I trust them to act in their own self-interest,” Roman said. It was easy to blame the Outsiders for kicking the Federation while it was down, but they’d probably suspected they would never have a better chance for outright victory. And they were probably right. “And what happens after the war...”
“You need a plan to determine what will happen afterwards, if we win,” Elf said curtly, as his words tailed off. “You need to decide what you want to happen before someone else decides it for you.”
Roman shook his head, although he knew she was right. He’d been a RockRat, then a Federation Navy officer... he wasn’t a politician or a planetary governor. He’d thought Emperor Marius could handle the task of reforming the Federation, but it had evidently driven the older man mad. There was no way he wanted to spend the rest of his life as emperor, trapped on Earth while trying to fix the damage of centuries of mismanagement and deliberate malice.
“You need to think about these details,” Elf pressed. “The Outsiders will certainly have a plan for the post-war universe.”
Marius had said, back during one of their private meetings, that the Federation’s great strength was its unity. They’d fought the Inheritance Wars to make it clear that the Federation was not going to be sundered. Indeed, even Admiral Justinian had moved to claim the seat of power, rather than separate his sector from the Federation... although, towards the end of the war, he might have had other ideas. But the Outsiders... they wanted to break the Federation up completely, even welcome aliens into the fold.
And we won’t know if we can trust the aliens, he thought, numbly. We would have another civil war over the issue.
“I can see why the problem drove Emperor Marius mad,” he said, finally. “How are we supposed to handle it ourselves?”
He cursed under his breath as he looked at the starchart, showing the quickest route back to Boston. There were no precautions in place to keep Marius from taking control of the base, then turning its formidable defenses against Fifth Fleet. Roman knew the defenses intimately — he’d designed the defense grid himself — and there was no easy way to push through the Asimov Point. It would be a brutal engagement that would cost him dearly, yet there was little choice. The cold equations that had pushed the Outsiders into attacking Boston, despite knowing they were slamming into the teeth of his defenses, applied to him too. If he wanted to break through into the Core Worlds, he needed Boston...
... And Emperor Marius would know it too.
“We may not survive long enough to discuss the future of the Federation,” he said, turning away from the display. “We can worry about the future after we win the war.”
“A mistake,” Elf said.
Roman nodded, ruefully. “We need to concentrate on winning the war first,” he said. “I can’t get distracted like Admiral Stilicho.”
“I suppose,” Elf said.
She looked doubtful, but he knew she understood. Admiral Stilicho had commanded the Federation Navy’s invasion force during the early stages of the Blue Star War, a war the Federation should have won easily. Indeed, Admiral Stilicho had been so confident of a walkover that he spent more time planning the victory parade on Earth and handing out patronage to his junior officers than preparing for the war. His masterstroke had turned into a military disaster on a scale unseen since the Battle of Spider Bite and, fortunately for him, he hadn’t survived the first engagement. Roman had no intention of repeating the same mistake.
Because Emperor Marius is a skilled officer who beat Admiral Justinian, even when taken by surprise, Roman thought. He won’t hesitate to take advantage of any of my mistakes.
“And that leads to another problem,” he said. “The loyalty of our crews.”
“I’ve stationed marines throughout the decks, ensuring the lockdown stays firmly in place,” Elf assured him. “I doubt anyone can put together a plan to mutiny before we’re halfway to Boston.”
Roman scowled. He hated the thought of enforcing loyalty at gunpoint. It would be easy, too easy, for his crewmen to work at a deliberate pace, even when the ship was under fire. He couldn’t allow it to risk their chances when push came to shove. Emperor Marius already held too many cards for it to be tolerated.
“I need to speak to them,” he said. He keyed a console. “Record.”
“Recording,” the console said.
Roman took a moment to gather his thoughts, then began. “This is Admiral Garibaldi,” he said, carefully. By now, lockdown or no lockdown, word of the brief and savage engagement would have spread through the fleet. There was no point in trying to lie. “Emperor Marius attempted to bombard Nova Athena with antimatter weapons, ensuring the destruction of all life on her surface. When I tried to talk him out of it, he opened fire on Fifth Fleet.”
He scowled at the thought. Three years of warfare against the Outsiders — and their alien allies — had worn down the fleet’s desire to remain true to the Federation’s ideals. It was quite likely that a large percentage of his crew, even a majority, would think that exterminating the entire population of Nova Athena was a good thing, even though it would be a monstrous act. They’d psyched themselves up for a final battle, one that would end the war...
But it wouldn’t. Even if Nova Athena had surrendered, even if Emperor Marius had accepted the surrender without bombarding the planet, the other Outsider worlds and bases were still a complete mystery. The war would have dragged on for years before every last Outsider was hunted down and killed.
“The Emperor has gone mad,” he said, picking his words carefully. “He has already declared us — all of us — outlaws. Our only hope, to save both our lives and something of the Federation, is to overthrow him as quickly as possible. Towards this end, I have forged an alliance with the Outsiders.”
He paused, again. There was no point in trying to hide the truth, but it was chancy. A crewman who would otherwise have supported him might think twice, after learning that he was meant to work with the alien-loving Outsiders. Or someone who had a more personal grudge... the Outsiders had killed hundreds of thousands of naval personnel in their war, all of whom would have left friends and family behind. And, with sidearms issued to all personnel, a bloody mutiny at the worst possible time might end the war.
“I know this won’t be easy to accept,” he added, “but I see no choice. The Emperor has to be stopped.
“Once we return to Boston, those of you who are unwilling to take up arms against the Emperor can make yourselves known to my officers. You will be shipped to Boston itself, to remain out of the fighting until the end of the war. If the Emperor wins, you will be held blameless” — he hoped that was true — “and can resume your duties. And, if we win, nothing more will be said about the matter.”
He took a long breath. “I know this won’t be easy for many of us,” he concluded. “Please make up your mind during the voyage to Boston, then let me know what you want to do.”
“Good enough,” Elf said, as he stopped the recording. “Maybe not the sweetest speech I’ve heard, but one from the heart.”
Roman nodded, curtly. He knew he’d have problems with manpower — far too many officers and crew thou
ght the Emperor was the greatest thing that had ever happened to the Federation Navy — but he wasn’t about to force men to go into battle against their will.
“I’ll transmit it through the fleet,” he said. “Do you foresee any other problems?”
“There will be agents inserted into the fleet,” Elf said. “They’re not likely to bow out and stay on Boston.”
“I know,” Roman said. “Can you ID them?”
“Not easily,” Elf said. “Once, it would have been easy, but now... with so much manpower washing around the Federation...”
Roman winced. Manpower — skilled manpower — had been a major problem for years, thanks to the Grand Senate’s policies on education. Emperor Marius hadn’t even begun to fix the problems with the educational establishment, but at least he’d been able to ensure that skilled engineers and technicians were encouraged to train others in how to maintain starships. Even so, vast numbers of skilled officers had been moved from ship to ship, making it impossible for a counter-intelligence team to look for the signs of an infiltrator. There were just too many officers and men who fit the profile.
“Just keep an eye out for trouble,” he said. He wasn’t too worried about agitators — the chiefs would deal with them — but an operative who kept his head down while plotting trouble was far more dangerous. “And we’ll do what we can to encourage them to switch sides.”
He keyed the console, sending the recording into the communications network, then called Lieutenant Thompson back into the CIC. She looked refreshed — she’d managed to snatch a couple of hours of sleep, something that had eluded both Roman and Elf — and took her place at the console without hesitation. Elf nodded curtly to Roman and strode towards the hatch, which hissed open at her approach. Roman just hoped she found time to have a nap before they reached Boston.
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “I have a full status report from the fleet.”
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 3