You’ve done more than enough, Roman thought. But it would be cruel to tell you that now.
“I did what I thought I needed to do,” Marius said. His breathing grew ragged again; Roman winced as an alarm echoed through the compartment. “But everything I did only created new problems. I thought I could take the bull by the horns...”
He gasped, his entire body shaking. Roman looked around, wondering where the hell the doctors had gone, then realized they had been banished from the compartment. Marius Drake — or Lady Tiffany — had ordered them to stay out. Was Marius Drake lucid enough to realize he didn’t want to live any longer? Or had his wife quietly arranged matters so he could die with some dignity?
“Save the Federation,” Marius said. “And don’t give up.”
He shuddered, one final time, then fell still. The alarm shut off; the displays on the far side of the compartment went blank. He was dead, dead beyond all hope of resurrection.
Roman stared down at the body for a long moment, feeling oddly conflicted. Part of him knew he should be relieved — alive, Marius Drake would be dangerous, even if it was only as a figurehead — and yet he felt saddened. Marius Drake had been a great man, once upon a time; if things had been different, he might have died a great man.
If Tobias Vaughn had survived, Roman thought. Or if I’d stayed on Earth...
He shook his head. There was no way to know what would have happened if something had been different. The Grand Senate had been tearing the Federation apart ever since the Blue Star War, their inherent greed and conservatism destroying all faith in the once-great society and ruining countless lives in its wake. Admiral Justinian hadn’t been the only warlord, after all; he’d merely been the one who’d struck first. And it would have made very little difference, Roman suspected, if Admiral Justinian had taken Earth, so many years ago.
He sighed, once. And then he reached down and gently closed Marius Drake’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “Goodbye, Admiral.”
Turning, he strode back through the hatch and into the outer chamber. Ginny was gone, but Elf and Lady Tiffany were waiting patiently, the former calm and composed while the latter was clearly worried. Roman wondered what, if anything, she’d said to her husband before the latter’s death. She had had time, perhaps... or had she felt that Roman should be the only person to speak to him? Their marriage had been arranged, but it was clear she’d had strong feelings for him — and vice versa, as she’d survived the purge of the Grand Senate.
“He’s gone,” he said, flatly.
Lady Tiffany bowed her head for a long moment. Elf merely nodded.
“He would have wanted to be buried amidst the stars, I suspect,” Roman added. It was customary among long-serving navy officers and he couldn’t imagine Marius Drake being any different. “We will have his body prepared for burial, then conduct the ceremony before we leave the system.”
Tiffany looked up. “You’re leaving? The system is in chaos!”
“The strain of trying to hold the Federation together drove Emperor Marius mad,” Roman said, “and the tools at his disposal were far greater than those at mine. I don’t think we can hold the Federation together any longer.”
“Millions of people will die on Earth,” Tiffany protested.
“They’ll die anyway,” Elf said, coldly. Roman understood; she knew she couldn’t do much, save perhaps rescuing some of her remaining family. “There’s no way we can feed the entire planet, now the food production and distribution networks have been destroyed. I don’t even believe we can save a tiny percentage of the population.”
“There are far too many systems declaring independence and leaving the Federation,” Roman added. “Trying to force them back into the alliance will spark off another long and bloody — and futile — war. I doubt the Outsiders will assist us in reuniting the Federation.”
“Of course not,” Tiffany said. “They’ll just start snapping up worlds for the Outsider Federation.”
“Would that be a bad thing?” Roman asked. “They are planning to offer autonomy to worlds, merely adhesion to a mutual defense and trade pact. It wouldn’t be anything like as unpleasant as the Grand Senate.”
He paused. “And even if it did evolve into something worse,” he added, “at least they will have tried. The Federation failed. Rebuilding a failed structure would be nothing more than a waste of time.”
“I hope you’re right,” Tiffany said. She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “What now?”
“We will offer to take the trained personnel to Boston with us, when we leave,” Roman said. He had no idea how many others would want to leave the Sol System, but with at least two warlords sniffing around he suspected millions of people would want to go. Boston would make a good place to build up a whole new civilization, then either join the Outsiders or remain independent. “And you too, if you wish to come with us. Or we can transfer you to Paradise...”
“It won’t be a paradise for long,” Tiffany said, shaking her head. “Even if the aristocrats survived their first year on the planet, one or more of the warlords would target them for revenge. I don’t think they’ll be left unmolested.”
“Probably,” Roman agreed. He was surprised that Marius Drake had left them unmolested, although they’d been out of his sight and mind. “Is there anyone there you want to save?”
“They never considered me one of them,” Tiffany said. She shook her head. “Let them survive or fall, Admiral. I have nothing in common with them.”
Roman nodded in understanding. “Elf and I will head back to Valiant and complete our work,” he said. “Once you bid farewell to your husband, you are more than welcome to join us. I believe your surviving bodyguard and the hostages you freed are hoping to meet you again.”
“Thank you,” Tiffany said. She looked oddly pleased, then resigned. “Nothing is ever going to be the same again, is it?”
“Probably not,” Roman said. He was used to change, but Tiffany — and Marius Drake — had been used to a stable universe. “Change is a universal constant.”
Tiffany nodded, once.
“You were in there for twenty minutes,” Elf said, once they were back in the shuttle. “What did he say to you?”
Roman hesitated. In truth, he wasn’t sure he wanted to discuss it with anyone, even Elf.
“He told me to make sure his death wasn’t in vain,” he said, finally. “And I will make sure of it, personally. We’ll never forget what giving one man absolute power can do.”
Chapter Forty
It is funny, really, just how much effort has been wasted trying to determine the last resting place of Marius Drake. In the years since the fall of the Federation, hundreds of missions have been mounted in the hopes of locating his coffin and recovering his body, some dispatched by cultists and others sent by organizations who want to make sure the former Emperor is definitely dead. But none have ever located the corpse.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Earth, 4102
General Charlie Stuart couldn’t help feeling an odd mixture of emotions as the fleet prepared for departure, for a voyage that would take them back through AlphaCent and Tara Prime until they finally reached Boston. On one hand, the Federation had been broken and Earth itself was consumed by civil war. But, on the other hand, Chang Li was dead and the Outsider Federation had yet to recover from her loss.
She wouldn’t have wanted to see Earth burn, Charlie told himself, as he stood in his office and studied the reports. And she would have wanted to save as many souls as we could.
The planet’s security forces had died or scattered, leaving an increasingly desperate mob battling over the remaining scraps of food. Who would have thought Earth was so close to a complete breakdown?
He looked up as the hatch chime sounded. “Enter.”
The hatch hissed open. Professor Kratman stepped through the hatch, looking surprisingly dapper in a civilian suit and tie rather than a shipsu
it. Charlie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion; Kratman was Brotherhood, perhaps the sole surviving Brother. And the Brotherhood had never been keen on the idea of sundering the Federation, let alone embracing aliens as allies and... brothers.
“Professor,” he said, stiffly. “What do you want?”
Kratman didn’t appear to be fazed by the rudeness. “A few moments of your time, General.”
Charlie hesitated. It was tempting, very tempting, to tell the professor to go away. He didn’t have the time to listen to sob stories, let alone political manipulation. And yet, he was curious. Kratman had to know the Brotherhood wouldn’t be considered welcome in the Outsider Federation, so why was he here?
“Take a seat,” he said. He deliberately did not summon the steward to provide tea or coffee, something that was more insulting to the Federation than the Outsiders. Kratman could not fail to miss the unsubtle implication that he was far from welcome. “What can I do for you?”
“To the best of my knowledge, I am the last surviving member of the Brotherhood,” Kratman said, without preamble. Charlie was almost relieved. “There has been no communication from Grand Senator McGillivray since the fleet entered the Sol System. I believe, under the circumstances, that he is almost certainly dead.”
“Rendering the Imperialist Faction extinct as well as the Brotherhood,” Charlie observed, tartly. “I trust you won’t object if I don’t weep crocodile tears?”
Kratman leaned forward. “The Federation I swore to defend is gone,” he said, simply. “That’s a fact. There may be some warlords who dream of rebuilding the Federation in their own image, of converting their vest-pocket empires into something greater, but I doubt any of them have the resources to turn their dreams into reality. Even Roman, who commands the single largest force known to remain active, probably couldn’t do it.”
“He doesn’t want to do it,” Charlie said. It had been a relief. The Outsiders didn’t need another war while they sorted out the issue of just who succeeded Chang Li as Speaker. “I don’t see any reason to question his judgement.”
“The bonds that held the Federation together have snapped,” Kratman agreed, shortly. “And putting it back together is impossible.”
He leaned forward. “But that does leave us with the problem of determining what happens after the Federation.”
Charlie frowned. “I dare say we’re looking at a number of warlord states,” he said. “And us, of course.”
“And you,” Kratman agreed. A flicker crossed his face. “And your alien allies.”
“Most aliens didn’t start out hating us,” Charlie pointed out. “They only turned into human-haters after they met the Federation.”
“Something that was hardly true of the Snakes,” Kratman said. “They shot first.”
“Yes, they did,” Charlie said. “But the crimes of one alien race can hardly be rested on another, totally separate alien race.”
Kratman bowed his head. “Whatever happens afterwards... well, that’s a young man’s game,” he said. “I’m well over fifteen decades old, General, and I would be surprised if I see out one more decade. But I have a gift for you, of sorts.”
He reached into his jacket and produced a datachip, which he dropped onto the desk. “I never really expected to go into history,” he admitted. “Studying history has always been quietly discouraged in the Federation, even when I could mine history for examples I could introduce to my cadets. The Grand Senate preferred the peons to believe that the Federation had always stood, that nothing had changed from the birth of the universe till now.”
“Very few people would believe that,” Charlie sneered.
“You might be surprised,” Kratman said. “It’s astonishing what people can be convinced to believe, if they have no reliable intellectual framework with which to assess new data.”
He shrugged. “That—” he tapped the datachip “—is one of two copies of my own private historical research. The book would have been banned, without hesitation, if I’d submitted it for publication, so I chose not to make the attempt. It’s an attempt to assess the last five thousand years of political history and draw lessons for the future.”
Charlie frowned. “The last five thousand years?”
“History may not repeat itself, General, but it does rhyme,” Kratman told him, flatly. “I suggest you and the Outsiders seek to learn before it’s too late in order to avoid repeating some of the Federation’s mistakes.”
“The Federation tolerated the Brotherhood,” Charlie said, as Kratman rose. “That was a mistake.”
“Perhaps,” Kratman said. He didn’t sound offended. “The other copy, for what it’s worth, is going to Roman Garibaldi. Maybe he will draw some interesting lessons from it, too.”
* * *
“Is it wrong of me,” Tiffany asked, “to feel that I betrayed him?”
Ginny shrugged as they stood together in Valiant’s observation blister. “I don’t think you had a choice,” she said. “The Federation would have fallen far harder if Emperor Marius had remained in command. You know that to be true.”
Tiffany nodded. Two weeks after the Fall of Earth, with Admiral Garibaldi preparing to leave, a warlord had seized control of AlphaCent and threatened to deny passage back through the Asimov Point to Maidstone. It hadn’t lasted — the warlord had realized that Admiral Garibaldi outgunned him four to one — but it had been a sign that the future would be far from peaceful. If Marius had been in command, the warlord would have been obliterated instead of merely pushed out of the system.
“And yet, I feel like I did the wrong thing,” she said. “Like I could have stopped him...”
“I don’t think you could have,” Ginny said. She reached out and rested a hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “He wasn’t listening to anyone who tried to talk him down, me included. The drugs made sure of it, too.”
“I know,” Tiffany said. She’d wanted to murder General Thorne personally, but the mob on Earth had taken care of it for her. She still had no idea why General Thorne had moved his command center to Earth, yet she found it hard to care. All that really mattered was that General Thorne had been brutally murdered when the defenses failed and the mob had stormed the building. “But I did love him.”
“Yes, you did,” Ginny said. “And I think he loved you, too. But in the end, his love for you was outweighed by his love for the Federation.”
Tiffany touched her chest, lightly. She’d thought long and hard, but she’d eventually ordered the doctor to preserve some of Marius Drake’s sperm while he was unconscious. It would be easy, when she reached Boston, to have herself impregnated with his seed, even though she had no idea what her life would be like. It wasn’t as if she had any skills the out-worlds would find useful. Maybe she could write a book about being married to the one and only emperor.
“I don’t know if we did the right thing,” Ginny said. “But all we can really do is give thanks that we’re alive.”
“I know,” Tiffany said. She peered into the endless darkness of interstellar space, the shadows broken by the light of countless stars. “And his body is out there, somewhere.”
“No one will ever find it,” Ginny assured her. “And if there is an afterlife, maybe you’ll see him again.”
Tiffany shrugged. She’d hated and resented her fellow aristocrats for looking down on her family, so abandoning them and throwing her lot in with Marius Drake had been an easy decision. He’d taken her seriously, and he’d treated her kindly when he could have easily consummated the wedding and then never seen her again. She would always love him for that...
... And, at the same time, he was a mass murderer who’d committed genocide on a planetary scale.
And someone who might be indirectly responsible for more genocides, she thought. Now the taboo has been broken, who knows what’s going to happen next?
She wrapped an arm around Ginny as the starships slowly made their way towards the Asimov Point and watched, numbly, as Sol faded in the background. I
t was unlikely she’d ever return, and even if she did, everything would be different. All she could do was look to the future and try to build a whole new life.
“Goodbye, Marius,” she muttered. “And farewell.”
* * *
Roman studied the display, thoughtfully, as the fleet slowly made its way towards the Gateway. There were thousands of ships, ranging from the remains of Home Fleet to countless freighters crammed with people who wanted to leave Sol and build a better life along the Rim. Roman had stripped the system of as much infrastructure as he could, including artefacts from Naval HQ and the Luna Academy, but he knew there was still a great deal to attract raiders. It wouldn’t be long before the warlords started fighting over the Sol System — and AlphaCent — in earnest.
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “We picked up a message from Lieutenant Ricer. He states that the special orders have been carried out.”
“Good,” Roman said. He’d given orders to have Marius Drake’s coffin quietly aimed at the Dead End, Sol’s other Asimov Points. Lacking either a drive field or sufficient mass, it would be ripped to atoms by the gravity tides and lost forever. No one would find the body, either as a cult relic or to gloat over his mortal remains. “Have them return to the ships and then we proceed through the Gateway.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman turned his attention to the system display. Earth was still wrapped in a brutal civil war as the planet’s inhabitants came to grips with the simple fact that they couldn’t feed themselves without outside support, while Mars and Luna were still skirmishing. It wouldn’t matter long, Roman thought; the warlords would probably put a stop to it when they took the system and started to loot in earnest. He wondered, absently, if they’d do anything about Earth.
But they can’t, he told himself. And nor can we.
It was a bitter thought. He’d been raised to believe that there was always an option, while the academy had taught him to have the right attitude. And yet, and yet, there was no point in wasting the fleet’s resources on Earth. He could put everyone on the fleet to work, discarding all other priorities, and it wouldn’t be enough to feed even a tiny percentage of Earth’s population. The nightmare gripping the planet was the end result of the Grand Senate’s policies, policies that Marius Drake had been unable to undo before the war overwhelmed him. There was nothing Roman could do...
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 39