Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  She doubted that Hartkopf would have produced a completely new design of airlock and so it proved. The airlock waiting for her was Federation-standard. By law, she knew, each airlock was supposed to allow anyone to enter manually—in case of an emergency—but if Hartkopf hadn’t rigged up an alarm circuit, she would have been astonished. Hell, he might have seen fit to remove the manual overrides.

  She studied the panel thoughtfully and allowed herself a tight smile. So far, so good.

  She paced around the airlock until she located the command node and flipped it open. Placing her armoured hand against the panel, she extruded a small wire from her suit into the command node, hacking into its tiny brain. If the governor had been very paranoid, she’d just set off an alarm, but he would have to be clinically insane to even consider the possibility.

  No alarms sounded.

  She allowed herself a moment of relief before hacking deeper into the command node and rewriting the software to her specifications. As she had expected, there was an alarm circuit, which she bypassed, then dumped altogether. If she had to leave in a hurry, it was easier to have a way out that she knew was unguarded.

  Swinging over to the airlock itself, she pulled the manual override and stepped into the airlock. A moment later, the other door hissed open automatically, and she was in. The easy part of the mission was over.

  Hartkopf hadn’t realized it, but his paranoia had actually weakened his position. He’d set up hundreds of computer programs to watch his subordinates, yet he didn’t realize that those programs could be subverted. No one knew how Hartkopf had built the system, but Alicia had quickly discovered that he hadn’t developed something new or even—as the Colonial Alliance had done during the Inheritance Wars—worked an alien computer system into his network.

  Her implanted processors accessed the nearest communications node, slipped into the system and raped it, inserting a series of comforting lies into the network. No one would detect a trace of her presence.

  Unless, of course, the paranoid asshole had added a secondary security system. Detecting that would be tricky.

  Finding a small compartment, Alicia started to undress, removing her combat suit. As much as she loved it, it would stick out like a sore thumb if someone saw her. The uniform she wore below it stank—the result of four days in the suit—but it would pass for one of Hartkopf’s uniforms at a distance.

  Accessing her implants, she transferred the hacking link from the suit to her internal systems, before running through a quick weapons check. She might look like a normal aide, very unlike a soldier, but her implanted weapons and systems were deadly dangerous—and unseen.

  The security systems insisted there were only seven hundred people on the fortress, although Alicia knew better than to take that for granted. If she’d been programming the security network, she would have programmed it to ignore security officers.

  The hacked link told her that one of Hartkopf’s female officers was four compartments away, so she stepped out of her compartment—locking it behind her—and walked down the corridor, watching carefully for anyone who might see her. Hartkopf, it seemed, had stripped the fortress’s crew down to the bare minimum, thankfully.

  She keyed an override code into the door’s processor and stepped through while the room’s occupant was still turning to face her. Alicia saw the surprise on her face—she loved that moment—as she shot her neatly with a stun bolt. The woman crashed to the floor and lay still.

  Alicia picked her up effortlessly, rolled her over onto her back and started to undress her. Governor Hartkopf’s uniform designer, she decided, had been insane or blind or both. The uniform was bright green, with yellow and black markings that reminded her of a Terra Nova Wasp. When Alicia donned it, after having a quick session in the fresher, it pinched her in uncomfortable places. If nothing else, she decided as she studied her uniform in the mirror, males would be distracted from her face. It was a shame that she couldn’t mimic the stunned woman’s face and figure, but even the most advanced implants couldn’t do that quickly.

  Picking up the naked woman, she tied her hands and feet quickly before stuffing a sock in her mouth. By the time she was discovered, it would be far too late.

  Leaving the stunned woman behind, she walked down the corridor, avoiding cameras and security nodes whenever possible. When it wasn’t possible, her hacking programs simply edited her appearance out of the sensors, leaving the security staff blind. They wouldn’t see her even if they were watching the monitors. But she knew better than to assume that she would pass completely unmolested.

  As she turned into the governor’s private quarters, she almost ran into two burly security officers. Alicia braced herself, carefully activating some of her combat implants. If they realized that she was a fake...

  “Lieutenant Brogan, here to see the governor,” she said quickly. She’d taken a brief look at her victim’s ID before abandoning her. There was no way to know if the governor would send for a sexual partner, or if he would prey on the women serving under him, but she knew his reputation. “I’ve been told it is priority business...”

  “I’ll bet,” the older of the guards said gruffly. He exchanged a wink with his comrade that Alicia pretended not to see. “I’ll have to run your implant through the scanner anyway, I’m afraid. Please place your hand against the panel.”

  Alicia prepared herself as she pressed her hand against the panel. A standard ID chip was buried in the palm of an officer’s right hand; she, as it happened, had a processor that should feed another series of comforting lies to the scanner. If it failed, however, she would have to kill the two guards quickly and then get inside before the system registered her presence and sounded the alarm. She didn’t want to do that, but she’d have no choice; once the fortress went into lockdown, finding and assassinating the governor would be much harder. She might even have to detonate the fusion cell built into her implants and take out the entire fortress.

  “Access granted,” the guard said. Alicia pretended that the issue had never been in doubt. “Have fun with the governor.”

  The armoured airlock hissed open and Alicia stepped into the governor’s private sanctum. She hadn’t been certain what to expect, but it was clear that rumors of Hartkopf’s depravity hadn’t been exaggerated. It reminded her of a high-class brothel on Paradise that she’d visited once, while waiting for a target to show his ugly face. The room was filled with comfortable cushions, the walls were decorated with erotic paintings and one corner was entirely devoted to pleasure tools.

  Alicia wrinkled her nose in disgust as she prowled through the piles of cushions, looking for her target. She’d lost her hacking line as soon as the airlock closed, and no processor within the room responded to her pings. The governor had probably programmed them to respond only to him. Given time, she could have hacked in anyway, but she had the uneasy feeling that time was running out.

  “Who’s there?” a querulous voice demanded. Her implants checked it against the record she’d been given. It was Hartkopf.

  Alicia stepped around the corner and saw the governor sitting at a desk, studying a tactical map of the sector. The horde of red icons in a nearby system had to be the Grand Fleet. She allowed herself a small cough as the governor turned and stared at her.

  “Who are you?” he asked, lunging for a button on his desk.

  Alicia shot him neatly through one eye, and watched as his body flopped down on the deck. He was heavy enough to make lifting him difficult, even with her enhanced strength, but eventually she got him onto the bed. A moment later, she had beheaded him.

  She artistically placed his head on her forehead. His computer system still responded to the ID chip in his palm and it was a simple matter to program it to transmit a message right across the system. She didn’t intend to speak, but it wouldn’t be necessary. The image of Hartkopf’s dead body would be all that was needed. She hoped that his subordinates would see sense and surrender to the Federation, or perhaps they’
d start a civil war within the Bester System instead. But either way, her work was done.

  Absently picking up a small and valuable statue from the outer room, she checked her uniform for blood and then headed for the airlock. She had only ten minutes before the message started to transmit, and by then she had to be off the station. Or else they might catch her before she could escape.

  It would be a shame to die while leaving the station.

  * * *

  This time, Midway wasn’t alone; an entire assault flotilla had escorted her through the Asimov Points, the transits as tight as possible without risking interpenetration. Twelve assault cruisers, nine assault carriers and fifteen destroyers faced nine fortresses and their escorting craft.

  “Captain, we have multiple weapons firing,” the sensor officer reported, as Midway flickered into existence in the Asimov Point. “Sir, they’re firing at each other!”

  Roman leaned forward in surprise. It was clear that something had happened within the Bester System. The passive sensors were picking up nuclear and antimatter explosions all over the system, while the fortresses were actually being attacked by dreadnaughts that should have been on their side. No one was attempting to engage his ship, which was against all tactical doctrine.

  “Report,” he ordered. “Analysis?”

  “Civil war, sir,” the tactical officer said. “I can’t pick out sides at this distance...”

  Roman nodded slowly. The enemy had given up their best chance to slap his fleet back through the Asimov Point when they’d first arrived. Instead, they were shooting at each other.

  “There’s no point,” Roman told him. “Communications, contact the nearest fortresses and ask them to surrender. Promise them the same amnesty as everyone else if they surrender right now.”

  “Aye, sir,” the communications officer said. “Transmitting now...sir, should we hold the drones?”

  “Hold them on standby,” Roman ordered. “No, belay that. Launch one drone with an update and send it back to the Grand Fleet. Inform them that we are attempting to sort friends from enemies.”

  “If we have any friends here,” the tactical officer muttered.

  Roman couldn’t disagree. It was clear that something—either the message drone they’d released into the system or the assassination attempt—had sparked off a civil war, but there was no way to know who was on what side. Or even if there were any sides at all.

  “There are several different factions,” the tactical officer said. “I suspect some of the ships are even having internal struggles.”

  “Good,” Roman said, curtly.

  “We’re picking up a laser communication from one of the fortresses,” the communications officer said. “He claims to be a Commodore Lu and wishes to speak to Admiral Drake.”

  “Who happens to be on the other side of the Asimov Point,” Roman said dryly. “Patch him through. I will speak to him personally.”

  He used his implants to scan Navy records. There was no Commodore Lu listed, but Commander Lu had been in Fortress Command in the Bester System just prior to the Battle of Earth. His service record didn’t look very accomplished, but that might not mean much.

  Commodore Lu’s face appeared in front of him. He was a young Oriental officer with a short goatee and a shaven head. He looked desperately worried, as if he knew that whatever happened, his life would never be the same again. He was right; if he surrendered, he would probably end up going into exile rather than being allowed to return to his homeworld. He’d chosen the wrong side in a civil war.

  Or the side had been chosen for him. Roman forced himself to remember that.

  “Captain,” Lu said flatly. “I would like to surrender. I also request assistance against the reactionaries, if we can agree on suitable terms.”

  Roman concealed a smile. The fortresses were being hammered by enemy superdreadnaughts and dreadnaughts. Only their heavy firepower and armor had kept them from being crushed before the Grand Fleet’s scouting elements arrived in the system. Lu didn’t have much to bargain with, and he knew it.

  “The terms are simple,” he said. “You will surrender your fortresses and any starships under your command to Federation authority. We will guarantee your lives and personal possessions, providing you behave yourselves. Depending on your conduct, you may be pushed into internal exile or barred from serving in the Federation Navy.”

  Lu didn’t look happy.

  “Very well,” he said, finally. “Call your ships. Tell them to hurry. We can’t hold out for long.”

  “Of course,” Roman said. He signalled for the communications officer to launch another drone. The force of superdreadnaughts attacking the fortresses was impressive, but the Grand Fleet was far more powerful. “Hold on. We’re on our way.”

  He watched as the first of the superdreadnaughts appeared in the Asimov Point and linked up with the fortresses. The fortress ECM was sufficient to keep the enemy from realizing that they were being reinforced until it was too late. As the superdreadnaughts advanced, they opened fire on Hartkopf’s ships and drove them away from the Asimov Point, allowing the remainder of the Grand Fleet to enter the system. It took nearly an hour, but the outcome was never in doubt.

  “We have one squadron of dreadnaughts fleeing towards the mass limit,” the sensor officer reported. “Another looks as if it is either contemplating a last stand, or maybe it intends to surrender. I think we broke them, sir.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Roman said. He looked up at the tactical display. “This is only the first system we have to take before we reach Jefferson.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The treatment of political prisoners tends to vary by rank. Prisoners who were nothing more than grunts tend to be treated lightly, unless they committed atrocities while fighting the Federation. The senior leadership is either executed, transported to a hellish penal planet or sent into exile. It should be noted that exile, while better than a penal planet, is still a very real punishment. They will be placed on a planet of their choice and will not be allowed to go back into space again. They can never leave their new homeworld.

  -An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000AD.

  Bester/In Transit, 4097

  “The system is secure, sir,” Commander Blake Raistlin reported. “The fleeing ships have crossed the mass limit and vanished.”

  “Very good,” Marius said. He keyed his intercom, trying to ignore the commissioner sitting next to him. “Toby, launch your Marines and secure those fortresses and the surrendered ships. The prisoners can be moved to Bester until we decide what to do with them.”

  “Understood, sir,” Vaughn said. “We’ll get right on it.”

  Marius allowed himself a brief smile, and then turned back to the display. Once Bester’s high orbitals were in his hands, the locals—and anyone who still wanted to rebel against the Federation—would have no choice but to surrender...or be stamped flat with precision strikes from orbit. Working out what to do with the warlord-controlled worlds would be up to the Senate—going by the Inheritance Wars, the Senate would probably assign a new governor and bleed the worlds white as punishment for their disobedience—but whatever they decided wouldn’t affect his fleet. The planetary government could take control of the surface or abandon it to chaos. It wasn’t his concern.

  Thankfully, the fight had been brief and relatively painless, at least with regards to the Federation forces. None of Commodore Lu’s men had continued the fight once the late and unlamented Governor Hartkopf had met his end. The governor, it seemed, hadn’t convinced his men to be loyal to him, let alone his memory.

  “Contact Admiral Hoskins and order him to bring his ships into the system,” he ordered as the fortresses were secured. “Once the Fleet Train is in the system, I want him to start rearming the ships at once.”

  “Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.

  “Detach the Queen Elizabeth and her squadron and order them to secure the third Asimov Point in this system,” Marius added. The
fast superdreadnaughts—built to his personal specifications, including a reworked drive that gave them a combat speed nearly ten percent above average—would be able to beat any starship that left Bester and attempted to race to the Asimov Point. “Once there, they are to launch recon drones into the next system and confirm that it is clear of enemy starships.”

  He tapped his console, scanning the squadrons that formed the Grand Fleet. “And then detach the Midway and her fellow assault cruisers and order them to scout towards Sphinx,” he concluded. “I want to make sure that our path is clear all the way.”

  “Aye, sir,” Raistlin said, sounding stunned by the barrage of orders.

  Marius suspected that Raistlin wasn’t entirely happy serving as an aide, not when he should be able to command a ship of his own, yet that was all to the good. He’d seen too many officers who became comfortable as uniformed bureaucrats. But Raistlin, at least, still wanted ship command.

  “Midway and her escorts took part in the battle, sir,” Raistlin reported. “They fired off their external racks.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Marius said shortly. “We can rearm them before we launch the offensive.”

  Speed was of the essence now, speed and stealth. Admiral Justinian might well be keeping an eye on his fellow warlord. With some good luck, word of the governor’s death might have already left the system before the Grand Fleet arrived. He wondered briefly what might happen on the other worlds that had been part of the warlord’s little kingdom, before dismissing the issue. They could be mopped up later, once the other warlord had been crushed.

  He watched as the Marines occupied the high orbitals and secured the surrendered starships. In a bad entertainment vid the Marines would have been able to turn the surrendered ships into usable starships instantly, but it was never that easy in real life. The tugs would tow the starships back to the nearest shipyard, where trained yard dogs would survey the ships and decide if they should be scrapped or refitted to meet Federation Navy standards. If they were scrapped, Marius hoped they’d be broken up this time. He’d seen far too many ex-Navy ships that had become pirate vessels.