Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  “Detail a squadron of destroyers and a gunboat carrier to remain in the system,” he ordered. “Detach one of the Internal Security divisions and assign it to maintaining control in orbit. The remainder of the system will have to wait.”

  “That is unacceptable,” Walters said. “Powerful interests, admiral; powerful interests want this entire system secured as soon as possible.”

  Marius resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d been surprised when the political commissioner had insisted on joining him on the flag bridge when the fleet made transit into danger, and even more surprised when the commissioner had kept his mouth shut during the fighting.

  Before Walters could say anything further, Marius cut him off with a short, sharp gesture.

  “You know full well that they shouldn’t have expected anything. They shouldn’t even know about it yet—unless you told them?”

  “No, admiral,” Walters assured him quickly. “I just feel that those interests would be pleased if we were to secure the system and hand it over to them...”

  Marius clapped him on the shoulder, affecting a false bonhomie.

  “Let’s wait for the chicken to lay eggs before we scramble and eat them, shall we?” He grinned. “I’d hate to lose the system again because we didn’t defeat the real enemy.”

  “And using the Internal Security troopers to hold the planet...”

  “It’s what they are there for,” Marius reminded him, with the private thought that it would get them out of his hair. “No doubt their commander is fully aware of the political requirements, but I am sure that you will wish to speak to him personally before we depart this system.”

  “Thank you, admiral,” Walters said. He turned and started towards the hatch. “I assume that I will have access to a private communications link?”

  “Of course,” Marius said. Walters would have a chance to put the interests of his masters first, just as he wanted. “Good luck.”

  He turned back to his console as Walters left the compartment and allowed himself a satisfied smile. The reloading was going quickly; soon, he’d be able to send most of his fleet through the Asimov Point and into the Wanaka System. From there, they would cross the system and hop into the Farnham System. And from there, they would cross the interstellar void and reach Sphinx.

  If everything went according to plan, Admiral Justinian was in for a very nasty surprise.

  “Angle the decoy squadrons over to the Tranter System,” he ordered as he returned to contemplating the strategic display. “We don’t want to disappoint Admiral Justinian when he starts looking for us, do we?”

  * * *

  Forty years into the Inheritance Wars, a madman called Wanaka had created a new religion in Earth’s teeming undercity. His faith, which promised earthly salvation to the believers, had claimed that once Wanaka and his closest companions took control of Earth, there would be a new paradise for the oppressed masses. Whatever his grip on reality, Wanaka had been a gifted speaker and within ten years had raised an army that attempted to seize the mega-cities that made up most of Earth’s population centers. It hadn’t lasted, not least because his divinely-inspired plans hadn’t taken into account little things like the orbital fortresses, or the fact that the Senate—already fighting one war for survival—wouldn’t be inclined to handle the uprising with kid gloves. What had been planned as an easy takeover was mercilessly crushed and scattered by the Federation’s security forces. Wanaka himself had been captured, along with most of his followers.

  Realizing that creating a legend might lead to more instability, the Federation had offered Wanaka and his followers a deal. The Federation would transport him and his followers to a new world, where they would be free to live as they chose. The world the Federation had picked for them had been chosen with malice aforethought; Wanaka had no gas giant, few natural resources and plenty of vegetation that was completely incompatible with human biochemistry. It said something about the determination of the man’s followers that they’d tamed the world at all, although they had very little intercourse with the rest of the Federation.

  Roman and Elf stood together in the observation blister, looking down at the world as it receded. Midway and her consorts had made one pass, confirmed that the world had hardly any high technology, and then headed for the Asimov Point. Making the entire journey under cloak would drain the ship’s power, but Admiral Drake had specifically ordered it. The sector had never been surveyed properly; for all the admiral knew, there might well be an undetected Asimov Point out there leading to the heart of Admiral Justinian’s territory.

  Roman suspected that the Federation wouldn’t bother trying to extract punitive damages from Wanaka. What did a planet of religious fanatics have to offer the Federation?

  “You do realize that you’re going to have to tell your guest something,” Elf pointed out. “We’re on our way to kick Justinian’s head in.”

  “I know,” Roman said. Truthfully, he had no idea what to tell Henrietta. He’d kept her on the ship for two years, without hope of freedom. Elf had suggested giving her a new identity and dumping her on a newly-colonized world—where she would have a chance to build a new life for herself—but if he put her down somewhere, she might have betrayed them, willingly or otherwise. If the Marines hadn’t been loyal to Elf—and if the commissioner hadn’t been an idiot, and if they hadn’t managed to avoid a detachment of Internal Security troops—keeping her presence a secret would have been impossible. “What do you think we should tell her?”

  Elf shrugged, crossing her arms under her breasts. “If Justinian accepts the offer of amnesty, there is no reason why she couldn’t be included in it.”

  Roman swallowed a curse.

  “But if so, she might betray us,” he pointed out.

  “You’re quite the white knight,” Elf mocked lightly. She uncrossed her arms and pressed her fingers against the transparent bulkhead. “You have two choices: you can kill her, dump her body into space and swear blind that you never saw her...or you keep her alive and accept the risk of betrayal. And if you don’t want to murder a young girl who didn’t ask to be born to the galaxy’s worst traitor since the Convention of Arbroath, you have to accept the risks.”

  “I know,” Roman said and nodded. He sighed heavily. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “There is another option,” Elf offered. “You could dump her on Wanaka. No one from the Federation can be bothered visiting the planet; it isn’t as if they run the handful of newcomers through DNA scans to check their identity. She could make a good living for herself on the planet’s surface.”

  “I doubt it,” Roman said. Wanaka was hardly a testament to female equality. Life on the planet’s surface was nasty, brutish and short. There was no modern medical care, save for medical packages imported by smugglers and reserved for high-ranking personages. “I’ll ask her anyway, and see what she says.”

  “Better decide quickly,” Elf said as Roman turned to go. “I think that time is running out for all of us.”

  * * *

  It had taken some creative modification of bulkheads—and not a little barefaced lying—to create a compartment in which Henrietta could hide. Luckily, Midway and her sisters had been built to allow a considerable degree of internal reconfiguration without actually threatening the starship’s structural integrity. The young prisoner—if she was a prisoner; Roman was never actually sure in his own mind—had a bunk, a living room, a food processor and a bathroom. Indeed, she had better quarters than some of his junior officers.

  She had had to live in them for the last two years.

  She was lying on the bed when Roman entered through the sealed airlock in Marine Country. Few crewmen entered Marine Country willingly, at least without permission, and the hatchway was carefully sealed. An inspection would probably reveal her presence, but Roman had, so far, managed to avoid it. Besides, he’d reconfigured the interior quite a bit, remembering what happened to the Enterprise. The reconfigured command stations h
ad saved the ship from capture and conversion into Admiral Justinian’s flagship.

  “Good afternoon,” Roman said, taking a seat near to her bunk.

  Henrietta didn’t look up from the terminal she was spooling through, studying history and politics. Roman had found her hundreds of books to read that he’d stored within the terminal, as she couldn’t be allowed access to the starship’s computer network.

  When she didn’t respond, he added, “We need to talk.”

  Henrietta had lost weight during her captivity and dark bags surrounded her eyes. Elf had told him that even though Henrietta was well-treated, it was impossible to avoid the fact that she was a captive. Being trapped in the small compartment would slowly drive her mad. Roman had felt more than a little guilty when Elf had pointed that out, even though if he’d handed Henrietta over to his superiors, she would have been executed along with most of the captured personnel, as the Senate hadn’t been feeling merciful. Once ONI had drained those prisoners of everything they knew, they’d been formally executed by firing squad.

  “Sure,” she said after a long beat. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re on a mission,” Roman told her flatly. “We’re heading right towards your father’s homeworld. Once we get there...”

  “You’re going to kill him,” Henrietta said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I don’t know.” Roman took a breath. “The Senate has agreed to provide Admiral Justinian—your father—and his supporters with a limited form of amnesty. If they surrender without ado, they will be sent into exile rather than being killed outright. I believe that will apply to you as well. I can slip you into the transport so you would go into exile with your father.”

  “The Senate never keeps its word.” Henrietta snorted. “Why should I trust them?”

  “You do have a choice,” Roman pointed out. “You can stay with us, at least until your father surrenders, or we can dump you on the planet below. It’s called Wanaka. The Senate wouldn’t find you there, even if they had a reason to go looking.”

  Henrietta’s face took on the vagueness of someone consulting her implants. Even without access to the computers, she would still have a basic planetary database.

  “A barbaric place,” she said finally. “I’ll take my chances with you.”

  “I had to offer.” Roman stood up. “I’ll chat with you again as soon as I can.”

  “Please stay,” Henrietta said. She sounded lonely. “I just want to talk, I promise.”

  Roman hesitated, then sat down again.

  * * *

  The fleet passed through the Wanaka System without incident and made transit into the Farnham System. The settlers there hadn’t wanted more than an agricultural economy, and had been reluctant to sell mining rights to their gas giants to anyone. The Federation Senate had ended the issue—after a great deal of pressure from a couple of interstellar corporations—by rewriting the law to allow the corporations to set up mining cloudscoops without permission. The local settlers had retaliated by refusing to provide any rest and relaxation for the mining engineers, so the system had rapidly become known as a hardship posting for mining crews.

  Because the system had been cut off by the rebellion, ONI had no hard evidence on what might be taking place in the Farnham System. It was something of a relief for Admiral Drake to discover that the mining stations had been shut down, at least temporarily. But Marius hadn’t been inclined to take anything for granted, so he’d dispatched a squadron of destroyers to check out the mining stations.

  “The Marines confirm that the bases have been placed on standby and abandoned,” Raistlin reported. “There are no signs that anyone has visited the stations since the shutdown.”

  “Good,” Marius told him. He studied the display, wondering if Admiral Justinian had placed a single starship within the system. The Grand Fleet was cloaked, but the turbulence caused by the fleet’s maneuvers would probably be detected, cloak or no cloak. “Recall the squadron, then tell the fleet to resume course for the mass limit. We need to keep moving before some unhelpful bastard picks us up and blows the whistle.”

  “Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.

  He settled back into his command chair and allowed himself a droll smile. Unless they’d missed something, the Grand Fleet’s passage had been undetected and the back door was wide open. All that remained was to kick the door down as hard as possible and keep moving. If they were lucky, they’d get halfway to Jefferson before Justinian even realized they were coming.

  “And get me Captain Garibaldi,” Marius added. “I want to discuss opportunities for us in the Sphinx System.”

  “Yes, sir,” Raistlin said. He paused, considering. “Do you wish him to report onboard Magnificent?”

  “No,” Marius said. Convention dictated that the junior officer visited the senior, but convention could go hang. And even though it was an aide’s job to keep reminding his admiral about protocol, Marius didn’t want to hear it. “I will settle for electronic transmission. Make sure that it is a secure link. We don’t want just anyone listening in.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The problem of interstellar communications has vexed humanity—and every other known race—since humanity first discovered the Asimov Points. Where there is a chain of Asimov Points from sender to receiver, it can take hours—or days—to send a message over hundreds of light years. Where there is a gap in the chain, it can delay the message by weeks or months. As can be imagined, this communications delay adds a certain amount of confusion to military operations...

  -An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.

  Jefferson System/Bester System, 4097

  “The intelligence is remarkably precise,” Admiral Justinian said, “and that worries me. How do we know that it isn’t a trick?”

  Caitlin considered the question seriously. The admiral had spent years building up an intelligence network on Earth—everyone who was anyone or wanted to be someone had their own intelligence network—but the Senate’s hasty counter-measures had wiped out most of his better-informed sources, along with hundreds of people whose only crime had been annoying one of the Senators charged with overseeing the purge. His few remaining sources had chosen to remain in deep cover and were very careful what they forwarded to the admiral.

  She sighed. Like most governments, the Senate had shown a much more dangerous side of itself when its power was genuinely threatened. Their reign of terror, as unpleasant as it had been, had definitely produced results.

  “You must admit that it holds up under scrutiny,” she pointed out after a long pause. “They only have two choices if they want to win within the year: reinforce Boskone to the maximum possible extent and attack from there, or push their ships through hostile space.”

  “And take us up the backside,” Justinian agreed.

  He stared up at the holographic display, studying the twin icons representing Marx and The Hive. Tactical icons orbited the two stars, the data already out of date. And yet, he was still more informed than the Grand Senate—or Admiral Drake. Admiral Justinian’s one advantage over the Federation was faster communications, and he used it ruthlessly.

  “If you were in command of the fleet, Caitlin, which way would you go?”

  “Marx,” Caitlin said automatically.

  Justinian gave her a questioning look.

  “It doesn’t matter how they look at it,” she explained. “A direct assault into a defended Asimov Point is going to bleed them white. It might cost them dearly enough to allow us to launch a counter-attack. If possible, they will seek to avoid such an offensive.”

  Justinian bowed his head in thought.

  “I cannot disagree with your logic,” he said after a long beat. “Look.”

  He keyed the console and the holographic chart zoomed out. Admiral Justinian’s space was centered on Jefferson, the star that served as the terminus for nine Asimov Chains. Harmony, his capital, was at the end of one Asimov Point, but the others led to other
parts of his empire, each one a nightmare to secure. The admiral had used most of his resources to build new starships rather than fortresses, and he hadn’t paid anything like as much attention to the Marx Chain as he should have.

  In hindsight, Caitlin knew they should have been more concerned with blocking access to The Hive.

  “If we send ships to Marx, they will be out of position if the enemy does try to mount an assault from Boskone,” he said.

  Caitlin nodded impatiently. Justinian liked to outline and expound upon his thoughts, but she found it a little tiring.

  “If we ignore the threat from Marx,” Justinian went on, “we face the risk of a powerful enemy force getting loose in our rear. How many worlds would dearly love to switch sides if the Senate gave them the opportunity?”

  Caitlin scowled. Admiral Justinian had repealed most of the Federation Law that colonists and settlers saw as an imposition by grey men thousands of light years away, but he hadn’t put anything in its place. His rule was a military rule, and while a starship could be commanded by a draconian man, it wasn’t so easy to command an entire economy in the same fashion.

  It hadn’t helped that he’d been diverting all his resources into building up his war fleet, which had caused shortages for the remainder of his empire. Planetary governments were going along with him, for now, but she had no illusions. Their professed loyalty would last until the Federation offered them a viable alternative.

  Justinian pressed the point.

  “Seriously, Caitlin—how many do you think would defect, given the chance?”