The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yeah,” Roman agreed. He’d wanted to launch rescue missions, but the radioactivity in the planet’s remaining atmosphere had made it clear that trying would be futile. The level was so high that every living thing on the planet would be dead, if the firestorms hadn’t already killed them. “The entire planet is dead.”

  He changed into a clean shipsuit, then stepped into the lounge as the shuttle continued its steady flight towards the orbiting superdreadnaughts. The remainder of Admiral Vincent’s formation had surrendered, as soon as the Emperor’s ships had broken and run, but he had no idea if they could be trusted. And yet, they’d just watched their planet die. How many of them, Roman asked himself, had had family and friends on the surface? They’d want revenge, wouldn’t they?

  But who, he asked himself, will they blame?

  His wristcom buzzed. “Admiral, we received a priority message from John Stuart,” the pilot said. “They boarded Admiral Petty, sir, and captured Hannalore Vincent. She wishes to speak to you.”

  “I bet she does,” Roman muttered. He cleared his throat. “Order them to have her transhipped to Valiant.”

  “Aye, sir,” the pilot said. “They’re also reporting that they picked up a number of the admiral’s relatives and their rescuer.”

  “Have them transhipped too,” Roman ordered. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’d find out. “And then send a signal to Senator Chang and General Stuart. We need to decide on our next step.”

  Roman settled back into his seat, trying to think. Could they have averted the disaster? He didn’t see how, save for unconditional surrender... and even then, he had a nasty feeling that Emperor Marius would still destroy Nova Athena. His former mentor knew how to bear a grudge, after all; he’d kept Governor Barony’s criminal greed and outright treachery in mind for over five years before dealing with him at the first possible opportunity. Roman wouldn’t have bet any of his once-princely salary on Nova Athena surviving, even if the Outsiders surrendered unconditionally.

  “We have to carry on the fight,” he said. News of the atrocity would spread through the Federation, but how would people respond? How many of them could truly comprehend what was at stake? “We can’t let him get away with murdering so many people.”

  “No,” Elf agreed, practically. “But we also have to keep him from murdering billions more.”

  Roman shuddered. Earth had a population numbered in the high billions and AlphaCent wasn’t too far behind, while there was hardly a Core World that didn’t have at least five or six billion humans on the surface. All of them were at risk, if their populations or their leaders chose to revolt against the Emperor... or even if the Emperor wanted to keep them out of Outsider hands. Was Emperor Marius willing to destroy the Federation in order to save it?

  The thought nagged at his mind as the shuttle returned to Valiant and docked at the nearest airlock. Shuttles were coming and going in a flurry of activity as the system was secured, logistics experts counting stockpiles while engineers inspected the remaining starships and starfighters, trying to determine what could be repaired and put back into service and what needed to be broken down and cannibalized for spare parts. Roman glanced at the ship’s log, noted to his relief that nothing had happened that demanded his immediate attention, then led the way to the briefing compartment. Elf followed him, muttering into her mouthpiece as she checked in with the rest of the marines. Her once-proud force was scattered across the system, trying to secure every last fortification before someone decided to do something stupid.

  “They’ve been searched, but they’re not restrained,” Elf noted, as they approached the solid hatch. Two marines stood on duty outside, wearing light combat armor. “Do you want to change that before you meet them?”

  Roman shrugged. “Why bother?”

  He keyed the hatch, which hissed open to reveal Hannalore Vincent and four teenagers sitting at the conference table. Hannalore looked as though she was trying to keep her face as immobile as possible — a sure sign of tension — but the youngsters looked terrified, as though they’d been put through too much too quickly. It was easy, judging by their faces, to tell they were probably related. They all had the same eyes and chins. Behind them, a grim-faced man in his early forties, wearing a shipsuit, leaned against the bulkhead. He looked tired and worn.

  “Admiral,” Hannalore said. Her face was a mask, but Roman had no trouble hearing the fear in her voice. “My father was blackmailed.”

  Roman sat down at the far end of the table. “Explain.”

  He listened, without saying a word, as Hannalore explained. It was hard to believe that Admiral Vincent had made such an elementary mistake, leaving his children where his enemy could grab them without any real effort, but it did fit the facts. Admiral Vincent’s ships had turned on the Emperor, engaging his ships at point-blank range. And they’d done a great deal of damage before they’d been blasted out of space.

  “And now your father is dead,” he said, when she’d finished. Oslo had added a few comments, but he’d need to be debriefed properly later. “I don’t bear a grudge against you.”

  Hannalore relaxed, visibly. She’d played a role in luring the rebels forward, after all, even if she hadn’t known that her father would be unable to keep his side of the bargain. It would be human, very human, for Roman to take everything out on her, if not her siblings. But she’d been an innocent dupe and her siblings pawns in a political game...

  He shook his head. “Your mother was on the planet’s surface,” he said, shortly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hannalore said. “We — the remaining survivors of the fleet — want to join you. There’s nothing else for us.”

  Roman studied her for a long moment. He was quite prepared to ransack Tara Prime’s orbiting stockpiles for missiles and spare parts for his ships, but he was much less eager to add the remaining personnel to his fleet. There was too great a chance of accepting a sleeper agent or an outright loyalist — if, indeed, they remained loyal after watching a planet die. And yet, who was he to deny the survivors their chance at revenge? They had little else to live for.

  “If we do, your crews will be split up and newcomers will be assigned to your ships,” he hedged. “I trust that will be acceptable?”

  “It will be more than suitable, if we can just strike back at the bastard,” Hannalore said. “He would have had my siblings raped and killed.”

  “Killed, certainly,” Roman agreed. The Marius Drake he’d known would have hesitated, surely, before ordering a young girl to be raped. But he’d changed so much in the last three years that Roman honestly wasn’t sure if he’d stop at anything now. “I’m sorry your father’s dreams have come to an end.”

  “I just want revenge,” Hannalore assured him.

  “Very well,” Roman said. “You’ll have your chance. For starters, you can help convince the fortifications in Maben and Astrid to surrender without a fight.”

  He called the marines, gave orders for the former hostages to be treated as honored guests, and installed in a guest suite on Valiant as Chang Li, General Stuart and Professor Kratman were escorted into the compartment.

  “Lady Tiffany helped them break free?” Elf asked. “I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.”

  “That’s what Oslo said,” Roman said.

  He shook his head. “She’s a strong-minded person,” he added. He’d only met Lady Tiffany a handful of times and they hadn’t really had a chance to chat, but she had allied herself with Marius Drake rather than remain with her family. “And maybe there were limits to what she was prepared to condone.”

  “She’s also either dead or a prisoner,” General Stuart said, curtly. “I don’t think she’s going to be in position to do much of anything in the future.”

  “Probably,” Roman agreed. He cleared his throat. “Going by the preliminary reports from the fleet’s engineers, we should be rearmed and ready to move in less than a week. I intend to press onwards to M
acaque — if we can, I want to move sooner. Macaque is not heavily defended.”

  “You intend to push on to Earth,” Chang Li said.

  “I think we have no choice,” Roman said.

  “There will be people who will want revenge,” General Stuart pointed out. “They’ll want us to destroy one of his worlds.”

  “It would be pointless,” Roman said, flatly.

  “It might convince the Emperor not to commit another slaughter,” General Stuart said.

  “I doubt it,” Professor Kratman said. “Marius... has committed genocide once. He’ll find it easier to do it again.”

  “I will not be responsible for the mass slaughter of men, women and children who are powerless to affect the course of the war,” Roman said, raising his voice just loud enough to make the point clear. He understood the General’s reasoning, but he knew he couldn’t step over the line. “And burning Earth or AlphaCent until the land is blackened or broken won’t affect the Emperor’s ability to make war.”

  He closed his eyes in pain, wondering just what had become of his mentor. In his place, Roman would have fired on the stockpiles, crippling Tara Prime’s ability to resupply his ships and forcing Roman to wait while the fleet train hauled more supplies from Boston or Ruthven. It hadn’t escaped his notice that they were putting more and more pressure on the fleet train, the further they moved from their home bases. Surely, an officer as experienced as Marius Drake could see the potentials? Roman himself had hacked away at Outsider supply lines during the middle stages of the war.

  “Agreed,” Chang Li said. She glanced at her companion, then nodded. “We will not be responsible for more atrocities.”

  “We’ll probably get the blame for it anyway,” General Stuart warned. “The Emperor’s lie departments will be working overtime, just to convince the sheep that we, not the Emperor, burned Tara Prime to ashes. Admiral Vincent will probably be turned into a hero who died bravely, clearing the way for the Emperor to escape, and we destroyed his world in retaliation.”

  “No one will believe that,” Roman objected.

  “They might,” Chang Li said. “The Grand Senate built up quite an infrastructure for lying to the population.”

  “I can try to slip a message back to Earth,” Professor Kratman offered. “I don’t know if there are any Brothers left, but if there are one or two still undiscovered... well, it might be possible to get the word out.”

  “They wouldn’t be believed,” Chang Li objected.

  “They might be,” Professor Kratman said.

  He leaned forward. “You see, hardly anyone really believes a word put out by Public Information,” he added. “The media largely exists in an echo chamber, where they tell themselves that they’re important and the Grand Senators believe them, because if they weren’t telling the truth it would be on the news. But if we can get out an alternate story, it will sound more believable because there’s already a strong reservoir of distrust.”

  “I’m not sure that makes any sense,” Roman said.

  “You’re an asteroid brat,” Kratman reminded him. “You have to have a firm grasp of objective reality. The people on Earth... not so much. Convince them that the Emperor killed Tara Prime — and he might do the same to Earth — and the Emperor will have riots on his hands.”

  “Which he’ll crush,” Roman said.

  “And that will only make the riots worse,” Kratman said. “What’s he going to do if every worker across the system puts down his tools?”

  “Very well,” Roman said. “Send the message, Professor, and hope it reaches someone who can make something of it.”

  He sighed, tiredly. “But right now we need to press on as hard as we can,” he added. “We have a minimum of four more systems to crawl through before we reach Earth — and the Gateway is heavily defended. Getting there may mean accepting horrendous losses.”

  “We could try to sneak around the defenses,” Chang Li said. “It worked for Admiral Justinian.”

  “Admiral Justinian had all the time in the world,” Roman said. “We have none.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A strong man might have been able to turn the tide. But Emperor Marius, like so many other tyrants, was strong because he had allowed no one else to be strong. His insanity only made it impossible for him to get a proper grip on the situation.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Howarth, 4102

  Tiffany fought her way back to consciousness through a haze of pain.

  “I think she’s coming out of it,” a voice said. She was barely aware of the speaker, standing on the verge of her awareness. “The damage wasn’t severe, but she took quite a blow. I can give her something for the pain, if you like.”

  “No,” another voice said. It was a very familiar voice. “Leave her to cope on her own.”

  Tiffany felt a shock as she realized the second speaker was her husband. He’d never hurt her — he would never hurt her... memory returned and she realized, to her horror, that while Oslo and the former hostages might have escaped, she hadn’t. She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a blaze of white lights. The sight sent a stabbing pain through her head and she hastily closed her eyes again.

  “You can open your eyes now,” the first voice said. “I’ve dimmed the lights.”

  Tiffany did as she was told, despite the growing headache. Marius stood alongside her, his cold eyes boring into her skull, while an older man wearing a doctor’s uniform was holding a scanner against her arm. Her hands, she discovered when she attempted to sit up, were restrained, and someone had also wrapped a cloth tie around her neck and ankles, making it impossible to move. And, as cold air blew across her body, she realized she was naked.

  “You banged your head pretty badly,” the doctor said. There was a hint of warmth in his tone, although it was clear she was a prisoner. “Your left arm was also broken, thankfully after you blacked out. I’ve repaired the damage, but you’re probably still in for a few rough days.”

  “Thank you,” Tiffany rasped. Her voice sounded odd in her ears, as if she could no longer talk properly. “Water?”

  “Here,” the doctor said. He picked up a tube and held it to her lips. “You shouldn’t need to eat for a while, but when you do, we’ll do it through a tube, rather than ask you to eat lying down.”

  So I won’t be allowed to sit up, Tiffany thought, as she swallowed the water. It tasted curiously flat. And escape is impossible.

  “Thank you, doctor,” Marius said. There was no warmth in his voice at all. “You may leave us.”

  “She’s fragile,” the doctor said. “Sir...”

  “Leave us,” Marius repeated.

  Tiffany wanted to close her eyes as the doctor turned and headed for the hatch, but she knew there was no point. Marius’s eyes followed the doctor as he stepped through the hatch, then, as soon as the doctor was gone, snapped back to Tiffany. She had to fight the urge to look away or try to cover herself. The man staring down at her might wear her husband’s face, but he wasn’t the man she loved. That man was long gone.

  “Over twenty thousand crewmen dead,” Marius hissed. “Forty-seven superdreadnaughts and two hundred and seven smaller ships damaged or destroyed. An entire planet wiped clean of life. Was it worth it?”

  Tiffany felt her eyes widen in horror. “An entire planet?”

  “Tara Prime,” Marius confirmed. There was so much certainty in his voice that it never occurred to her to doubt him. “Burned to a crisp for treachery.”

  “You... you killed an entire planet?”

  “I destroyed a wretched hive of treachery,” Marius said. “By now, everyone on the planet will be dead or wishing they were.”

  His voice hardened. “We could have beaten the rebels,” he snarled. “We could have won the battle and restored the Federation. Instead... we lost. We had to retreat, leaving the battlefield to the traitors. And that was all your fault.”

  “Marius,” Tiffany said. “
I...”

  Marius slapped her face, hard. Tiffany cried out in pain. She’d been raised in the aristocracy, where she’d never had to experience pain or discomfort. The shock of being struck was almost worse than the pain. No one had ever struck her before.

  “We could lose this war,” Marius said. “And all thanks to you!”

  He slapped her again. Tiffany tasted blood in her mouth. Marius cocked his fist, pulling it back as if he intended to slam it right into her head, then relaxed very slightly. Somehow, Tiffany didn’t think it was good news. Part of her almost hoped that Marius would kill her and finish the job.

  “A planet is dead, Tiffany,” he said. “And what will happen when the rebels storm the Gateway?”

  “You have to listen to me,” Tiffany said, despite the throbbing pain. “Marius, the Federation can’t be held together by force...”

  He slammed his fist into her chest, hard enough to make her retch. “What do you know about it? Spoilt little brat, raised by the Grand Senate... I had to work to earn my title, only to see everything I did thrown away by stupid little men who had never heard a shot fired in anger or arrived — too late — on the scene of a pirate raid. I could have saved millions of lives if I’d been given the power and responsibility I needed. Instead, they tried to kill me!”

  Tiffany stared at him, hopelessly, as he started to pace the compartment. There didn’t seem to be any point in appealing to logic and reason, not now. Marius had been betrayed so many times that he’d lost the ability to consider if the betrayer had a point. But then, so many of his betrayers had no point. The Grand Senate hadn’t been in danger until it had tried to kill him. They’d created the monster that had destroyed them and was burning the Federation to the ground.

  She tried, hard, to imagine what would happen as word spread through the Asimov Points, no matter what the Emperor did to stop it. Entire worlds would quake in fear — or rise up against the Emperor, taking control of their own defenses and desperately preparing to resist his starships when they arrived. The glue that held the Federation together, already weakening, would melt for the final time. And nothing Marius could do would keep the Federation from shattering.