“I don’t know,” he said. It was honest enough; besides, he knew the danger of telling too many lies. “I like to fight, you see. I was kicked out of the service for fighting.”
Cleo snickered. “And to think they paid you to fight.”
“They did,” Uzi confirmed. The cover story had held up to whatever scrutiny the Outsiders had focused on it, thankfully. He’d be dead if they had the slightest reason to suspect his true nature. “They just thought I wasn’t fighting the right people.”
He smiled, allowing her to see his teeth. His record, a carefully-crafted mixture of truth and lies, made it clear he’d been kicked out for picking fights with other service personnel. It was true enough, after all; it just didn’t mention that he’d been recruited by ONI, which had falsified the dismissal to ensure no one questioned why he’d become a mercenary.
“I’d probably go back to the Rim and find someone else to work for,” he added. It was what he’d done, after all, although in reality he’d taken control of resistance movements so they could be wiped out by the Federation Navy. “There are never any shortage of wars along the Rim.”
Cleo raised her eyebrows. “You don’t want to settle down?”
“I’d get bored,” Uzi said. “There’s nothing to do along the Rim, but farm, fuck, and raise a dozen children. I just don’t have the patience to settle down and have a family.”
He watched her, wondering absently just what she’d do. Slap him? Run off in tears? Or merely remind herself that neither of them had any guarantees of surviving the coming months? Whatever happened at Tara Prime wouldn’t put an end to the war. Even if Admiral Garibaldi and Admiral Vincent completed their betrayal of the Emperor, the fighting would go on until Earth lay in ruins.
“You might think better of it, after you’ve had your fill of killing,” Cleo said. “What do you fight for?”
Uzi pushed her off him, then rolled over and straddled her. “I’m a mercenary,” he said, smiling down at her. “I don’t fight for anything, but money and the thrill.”
He kissed her, feeling a flicker of amusement as she tried to regain control by pulling him closer. It was a diversion, after all, and one he needed. Losing control now, so close to his targets, would be a dangerous mistake. And he might well have said too much. Cleo might think she could change him, or she might find his mercenary status exciting... or she might start to wonder, deep inside, if he’d change sides on a whim.
Never get too involved, he reminded himself, as he spent himself inside her. It makes it harder to do the job.
Afterwards, he lay beside her, thinking hard. He hadn’t expected a reply from ONI, not given the way he’d sent them the encrypted datachips, but it was frustrating. There was no way to know what was happening on the other side of the Asimov Point. No one had tried to fight the fleet, either, as it passed through Yellowstone and Folkestone. Uzi couldn’t decide if Admiral Vincent had succeeded in his betrayal, which would be bad enough, or if the Emperor was setting a trap. There might just be enough time for the Emperor to do something about the treacherous bastard before it was too late.
And if it isn’t enough, I may have to do something on my own, he thought. And that will mean the end of my time here.
* * *
“No opposition,” Roman said. “The system appears to be undefended.”
He scowled, inwardly. A plan that worked well was one thing, but a plan that worked perfectly was suspicious. The defenses of Yellowstone had been wiped out within seconds, the pair of outdated fortresses covering the Folkestone Point had surrendered, without even trying to launch drones or send a message further up the chain to Tara Prime. And now the New Redeye system had surrendered the moment his fleet took possession of the Asimov Point.
“The records did say there were no defenses on this side of the Tara Prime Point,” General Stuart pointed out. “Were you expecting that to change?”
Roman frowned. New Redeye wasn’t Ruthven, let alone Tara Prime, but she did have a population of over two billion humans. Given the Outsider threat, reinforcing the defenses would have made a great deal of sense. But then, New Redeye might also have ideas about autonomy that Tara Prime wouldn’t want to encourage. How long had Admiral Vincent been planning his bid for independence?
“It just bugs me,” he said. He glanced up at the display. The fleet was advancing slowly towards the Tara Prime Point, where it would make the jump into Tara Prime itself. “It’s going too well.”
“The Admiral is meant to be clearing your way,” General Stuart said. “And who in their right mind would put up a fight with outdated fortresses?”
“The defenders of Marble,” Elf said. “Rock can beat laser, in the right situation.”
“True,” Roman agreed.
He scowled up at the display. There was nothing, as far as they could tell, barring their path to Tara Prime. And there had been nothing in either of the two preceding systems. It was possible, he supposed, that someone could race from Tara Prime to Marble, then follow them back through Folkestone to take them in the rear, but it would be a plan that relied on too much going perfectly. None of the other options he’d considered were any more workable, even when he’d discounted the normal limitations.
If there’s a trap, it’s waiting for us in Tara Prime, he thought. And if there isn’t a trap, we’re being paranoid.
“Detach two squadrons of battlecruisers with orders to probe the Asimov Point,” he ordered, carefully. “Once they report back, we’ll move the remainder of the fleet closer, secure the point, and then advance through as planned.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
“And then, once we have secured the point, I want to leave the battlecruisers behind, along with a stockpile of assault pods,” Roman added. “It’s time to make sure we can take a few precautions.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman nodded, slowly. Maybe he was being paranoid, but even paranoids had enemies. If it was a trap, he promised himself silently, he’d make sure that Admiral Vincent would regret it. But then, what did Admiral Vincent gain? Emperor Marius would never condone the autonomy of an entire sector, certainly not one in such an important position. Albion had never been particularly important to the Grand Senate.
And are you reasoning like this, he asked himself, because you want to believe you can secure Tara Prime without fighting... or because you don’t want to believe you’re being lured into a trap?
“I want you on your superdreadnaught at least an hour before we reach the Asimov Point,” he said, addressing General Stuart. “You may need to take command if something goes wrong.”
“Aye, sir,” General Stuart said.
Roman looked at Chang Li, then shrugged inwardly. She’d flatly refused his suggestion that she should remain behind at Ruthven, despite the prospects for luring the planet into joining the Outsider Federation. Roman had to admit she had nerve, for a politician. Emperor Marius had commanded one half of the two-pronged attack on Nova Athena, but Marius Drake was an experienced naval officer. Chang Li, as far as Roman knew, had no real experience of combat, at least outside debates in the Grand Senate.
“I would advise you to remain at the rear,” he said, “but I don’t think you’d listen.”
“My being on your ship is a gesture of trust, Admiral,” Chang Li replied. “For you — and for Admiral Vincent. There’s no greater way to lose a man’s faith in you than to prove you don’t trust him.”
“Right now, I don’t,” Roman said, simply. “The Federation Navy is no longer a united force — we prove that, even if Admiral Vincent doesn’t. And I don’t know which way he’ll jump.”
* * *
“The drones confirm it, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “The rebel fleet is within an hour of the Asimov Point.”
Marius allowed himself a moment of amusement. Whatever else could be said about the treacherous asshole, Admiral Vincent had done an admirable job at making sure the defenders of As
trid and Maben didn’t have to decide where their loyalties lay. Instead, they’d have no choice, but to accept the fait accompli once the rebel fleet was solidly in control of Tara Prime. Astrid and Maben weren’t exactly stage-one colonies, yet they couldn’t hope to supply the defenders with everything they needed to keep blocking the way to Marble... if, of course, the rebels didn’t simply keep outflanking them.
You must have been planning this for a while, he thought, looking at the icon of Admiral Vincent’s superdreadnaught. He’d behave, Marius was sure, as long as his children were alive and well. And yet, you didn’t have the intelligence to realize that someone might outflank you.
“Very well,” he said, dryly. “Inform Admiral Vincent that he may send the welcoming committee through the Asimov Point.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said.
Marius allowed his smile to grow wider. Admiral Justinian had pioneered the technique for using StarComs to coordinate fleets across interplanetary distances, but Marius and Roman Garibaldi had both copied the idea. Marius had even expanded it by putting StarComs into freighters, despite the attendant risks. They were nowhere near an effective FTL communications method, but they did allow him to coordinate his forces with far greater efficiency than Roman Garibaldi could hope to match.
And a good thing too, he thought. Admiral Stockholm is loyal enough, but his competence is somewhat questionable.
It was a bitter thought. Hadn’t there been a time when he’d put competence over loyalty, skill over connections? But he’d been betrayed too often by those he’d trusted. Roman Garibaldi had betrayed him, Admiral Vincent had betrayed him... his eyes slid back to the Admiral’s icon as cold hatred flowed through his heart. There was no real hope of getting his hands on Roman Garibaldi — the young man was too skilled to allow his ship to be boarded — but Admiral Vincent would never have a chance to escape. Marius would see to it that his suffering was prolonged indefinitely.
And his children will not have a fun time on a stage-one colony, he reminded himself. He’d thought to kill them, just to make their father suffer, but Tiffany had argued for mercy and it had pleased him to grant it. Besides, they knew nothing of value in the real world. Life as a farmer, if they were lucky enough to be assigned to a farm, would be an endless series of unpleasant learning experiences. No one will ever draw the connection between them and their father.
“The courier boat has jumped through the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. “The messenger is on his way.”
Marius nodded, curtly. He’d ordered Admiral Vincent to send his eldest daughter — again — but the bastard had argued that Hannalore knew too much, that she might reveal something to Admiral Garibaldi. Marius had been tempted to repeat his order — Hannalore would be sure to behave herself if her younger siblings were at risk — yet too much was at stake for his amusement. A junior officer, one unaware of the threat to the Admiral’s family, could carry the can.
And Hannalore will not survive the final battle, Marius told himself. She’s just too dangerous to keep alive.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. He’d read the young officer’s transcripts from the academy, studying them with ninety years of experience in reading between the lines. Hannalore had been praised in glowing terms, of course, but there was enough solid evidence to make it clear she was a competent officer who’d graduated reasonably well. She might have made a very good officer, he considered, if her father hadn’t directed her life and career for his own purposes. As it was, she’d missed the seasoning she desperately needed. A skilled mentor would have made much of her, given time.
“The courier boat has returned, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said, as more data appeared on the display. “The rebels are closing in on the Asimov Point.”
“Very good,” Marius said. He’d thought about mounting a defense of the Asimov Point itself, but Roman Garibaldi wasn’t hot-headed enough to refuse to back off when it was clear he was losing the battle. “And now... we wait.”
* * *
“A courier boat just transited the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “It’s transmitting a message.”
“Put it through,” Roman ordered.
He frowned as an image of Admiral Vincent appeared on the display. “Admiral Garibaldi, welcome to Tara Prime,” the recorded message said. Hannalore, it seemed, had not been returned to the fleet. “As per your requests, the defenses of the New Redeye Asimov Point have been placed in lockdown. Known loyalists have been rounded up and are currently being held under guard. I look forward to meeting you in person once you enter the system.”
Roman frowned. “Lieutenant,” he said, “do the drones confirm the message?”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the readings. “The fortresses appear to have been largely depowered.”
And now, we decide if we want to jump, Roman thought. The defenses of the New Redeye Point were puny, compared to the fortresses covering the Maben Point, but they were nothing to take lightly. And find out if we’re about to be greeted by the lady — or the tiger.
He sucked in his breath. “Inform the fleet that we’ll proceed with Plan Alpha,” he said. The formation would bring his heavy ships through first, just in case the defenses weren’t quite as defenseless as they seemed, but give him enough flexibility to break off if he ran into something he couldn’t handle. “It’s time to go into the fire.”
“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. Her hands danced over the console, sending orders through the datanet. “Transition in ten minutes.”
Roman braced himself. One way or another, the uncertainty would all be over soon.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Perversely, the idea of using StarComs to improve tactical flexibility came too late to prove a decisive advantage. All it did was prove that the Federation, even in the latter stages of its decline and fall, could still innovate.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Tara Prime, 4102
Commander Ginny Lewis had never been so scared in her life.
She’d expected to spend a couple of years in the tactical section as she continued her steady climb to a captaincy of her own. Junior officers were supposed to know all they could about their ships, even if those on the command track rarely learned more than the basics of each department. Being assigned to work as the Emperor’s personal tactical aide should have been a badge of honor, a guaranteed jump up the promotions ladder.
Instead, it was like working next to a dangerous animal. There was no way to know when the animal would turn and bite you.
Ginny was no innocent. She knew that corruption had been rampant through the Federation Navy, and that officers like the late unlamented Admiral Stevenson had been fond of forcing junior officers into bed. The Emperor had put a stop to that, simply by making examples of a few of the worst offenders, but she would almost have preferred to be sexually harassed, rather than work with an increasingly maddened Emperor. One word out of place, she suspected, and it would be the end of her. The Emperor’s guards would be more than happy to put her out the airlock — or worse.
She flinched, inwardly, as the first enemy ship appeared on the display. The giant superdreadnaught lumbered out of the Asimov Point, its shields raised and its weapons at the ready. It looked as though the rebels were being careful; they might have forsaken the standard tactic of sending smaller and expendable units through the point first, but their ships weren’t lowering their guard. Another superdreadnaught appeared, followed rapidly by two more. They were transiting as fast as they could without running the risk of accidentally interpenetrating one another. Federation Navy officers would have hesitated to run such a risk unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Sir,” she said, “five rebel superdreadnaughts have made transit. They’re moving away from the point.”
“They wouldn’t want to stay near the fortresses,” the Emperor said. He sounded almost rational, surprisingly. “C
an you get an ID on those superdreadnaughts?”
“Recon platforms class them as Outsider-Ones,” Ginny said, after a moment. “There’s no way to know what the Outsiders call them.”
“Something witty or defiant, no doubt,” the Emperor mused. Four more superdreadnaughts flickered into existence, then glided through the silent defenses to rendezvous with their companions. “See if you can identify Valiant when she makes her appearance.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said.
She rather doubted it would be possible, thankfully. The Emperor might have noticed if she’d found the ship, then lied. Roman Garibaldi might not switch his flag to another ship, but he’d certainly be smart enough to ensure his flagship couldn’t be picked out easily. He knew, just like every other cadet to pass through the academy, that having the flagship be the first starship blown out of space almost certainly guaranteed losing the battle.
“Five enemy battle squadrons have emerged, sir,” she said. Three of them were definitely composed of Federation Navy superdreadnaughts. “They’re sending through flanking units now.”
“Let them have time to build up their fleet,” the Emperor ordered. “We want them on this side of the point.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said.
She sucked in her breath. Standard tactics called for holding the Asimov Point, by fighting to the death if necessary. It was the one place where the defenders would have a colossal advantage, where the enemy would need to spend assault pods and starships like water to punch through into the target system. Just letting the enemy slip through one’s defenses was the sort of tactic that would have earned an automatic fail at the academy, with the instructors pointing out that it nullified most of the advantages the defenders would have enjoyed. And yet, she could see the awful logic of the Emperor’s plan. Roman Garibaldi’s ships would be caught in a trap, unable to advance and unable to retreat. Even if he darted towards the system limits, he wouldn’t be able to evade the thousands of starfighters and gunboats under the Emperor’s command.
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 28