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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Commander,” he said. “Have you readied the secure datapack?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ginny said. “It’s ready for dispatch.”

  “Order the base to launch four courier boats,” Marius said. “Once they’re nearly at the Asimov Point, send them the datapack on tight-beam and tell the crews to take it straight to Earth, priority-one. Make sure they have the right codes to get through all the defenses and chokepoints without being halted.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ginny said.

  Marius looked up at the display, silently calculating travel times. It would take at least three months for his fleet to return to Earth, three months during which time anything could happen. But if he sent a warning on ahead, via a courier boat, Tiffany would be alerted within two months, perhaps less if they redlined their drives. He briefly considered boarding a courier boat himself — he’d endured worse, as a young ensign — before dismissing the thought. There were too many opportunists who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of his weakness, if he turned up in a courier boat rather than a superdreadnaught. And then there would be another civil war...

  And then the Outsiders will just walk in and take over, he thought, darkly. How could so many people be so stupid?

  But he already knew the answer. People, particularly politicians, were stupid. They were so fixated on their own power, so insulated from the consequences of their decisions, that they put their own advantage ahead of the good of the Federation. He might have been able to nip the Outsiders in the bud, he was sure, if the Grand Senate had given him the firepower he needed and the authority to use it. Instead, they’d ignored a festering problem along the Rim until Admiral Justinian had forced them to fight for survival. And even then, they’d still put their own advantage first. They could have crushed Admiral Justinian like a bug if they hadn’t put a political admiral in command of the fleet.

  He felt his head start to pound and rubbed it, silently grateful that there was only one other person in the CIC to see his weakness. It wasn’t something he could allow, during a major battle, but for the moment it would have to do. Thankfully, they should have more than enough warning if Commodore Yu decided to turn on them or reject Commodore Palin’s authority. But even then...

  The hours crawled by, far too slowly, as they approached the Asimov Point. There was no further update from the planet, no assurance that Professor Kratman had been captured or his departure confirmed... Marius fretted over it, despite his best efforts. His old commanding officer was a sneaky devil. Who knew what he was doing? And who knew what he’d said to Roman Garibaldi, the night before the fleet had left Boston? Marius’s intelligence officers hadn’t been able to slip bugs into Roman’s superdreadnaught.

  Because I trusted him, Marius thought, bitterly. I trusted him enough not to insist.

  “Sir,” Ginny said, breaking into his thoughts. “We’re cleared to pass through the Asimov Point. The replenishment ships have fallen into formation, as per instructions.”

  “Good,” Marius said. Unless, of course, the fortresses surrounding the Asimov Point — weaker here, as there was no real threat of attack from the far side — intended to fire on the ships when they entered point-blank range. “Take us through as planned.”

  He looked up at the system display, silently calculating the odds. Commodore Palin would try to hold the system, he was sure, but would it be enough to stop the system’s former master? His crews might turn on him when they realized just who was attacking. But there was no choice. He had to let Commodore Palin do his job and pray it was enough. He braced himself as the ship entered the Asimov Point, gritting his teeth as he felt the gut-wrenching unease as they passed through the tear in space and time.

  “Transit complete, sir,” Ginny said. There was nothing on the far side, save for a roving picket of gunboats. “The replenishment ships are asking for orders.”

  “Continue on course towards Earth,” Marius ordered. “We’ll replenish along the way, as planned.”

  He couldn’t help a sigh of relief as he rose. They’d made it through the bottleneck and, hopefully, delayed Roman Garibaldi. Even if he retook the system without a fight, he’d still have problems replacing the replenishment ships. It would take him months, probably, to adapt older freighters to do the job...

  ... And, in that time, Marius knew he would have plenty of time to prepare his own forces for the final battle.

  Chapter Six

  Unsurprisingly, questions regarding loyalty tended to dominate the Federation Navy’s concerns during the last years of the civil wars.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Spinner/Boston, 4101

  “I just picked up a message from the courier boat,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “The Emperor’s fleet passed through two days ago, sir, and detailed a squadron of destroyers to cover the Asimov Point. There was no way to slip a message through to Boston.”

  Roman cursed under his breath. Emperor Marius must have redlined his drives as soon as he entered the Asimov Point chain leading to Boston. Given how badly damaged some of the refugee ships had been, it was a considerable risk. Roman had hoped the courier boat would beat Marius Drake to Boston, but evidently it was not to be. And that meant... what? Who was in command of Boston? Commodore Yu, Emperor Marius... or someone else? If the latter, it would definitely be one of the Emperor’s loyalists. Somehow, Roman doubted he would be willing to let himself be talked out of making a stand.

  He studied the tactical display for a long moment, thinking hard. It wouldn’t be impossible to sneak up on the destroyers, if they were just sitting atop the Asimov Point, but he rather doubted it would work. Almost all commanding officers had actual experience, these days; he had a feeling the enemy commander would have detailed half his squadron to run patrols while the other half stood ready to jump back to Boston. Hell, it was quite possible that a cloaked ship had observed their arrival at Spinner and a warning was already flickering back to Boston. It was what he would have done.

  “Take us directly to the Asimov Point,” he ordered. There was no point in playing games, not when the enemy commander had to know where he was going. “Launch a shell of sensor drones and hold them in position around our formation, watching for cloaked ships. I don’t want to be caught by surprise.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  Roman settled back in his chair as the fleet began the slow crawl towards the Asimov Point, contemplating his options. There were just too many unknowns for him to come up with any real plan, which meant he would probably have to improvise when they jumped into Boston and discovered what was lying in wait. All he could do was prepare for everything he could, up to and including a full-scale assault on the Asimov Point, even though it would be terrifyingly expensive. His fleet had expended most of its assault pods during the advance on Nova Athena.

  And why not? he thought, bitterly. We weren’t expecting to continue the advance beyond there, were we?

  Pushing the thought aside, he reached for the latest set of reports from the engineers and quickly skimmed through them. Most of his starships were combat-ready, but there were limits to what the engineers could do without a proper yard and some downtime. Roman hoped Emperor Marius hadn’t tried to destroy the facilities at Boston, although he knew it was a strong possibility. But then, the yards were necessary to rebuild the Federation as well as supporting the war effort. It was just possible that the Emperor had left them alone.

  “Admiral, long-range sensors are picking up seven destroyers orbiting the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “I can’t get a positive ID on them at this distance.”

  Seven destroyers, Roman thought. A standard destroyer squadron had nine ships. Had two of them cloaked to keep an eye on his fleet? Or had they jumped back through the Asimov Point to alert the defenders? Or had they been destroyed during the engagement, leaving the squadron understrength? And presumably not starships attached to Boston’s local defenses.

  “Keep us on cour
se,” he ordered. “Inform me the moment you get a positive ID.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. She paused. “One of the destroyers just jumped into the Asimov Point and vanished.”

  “Understood,” Roman said. It was possible that someone was planning a clever ambush, but they’d stripped Boston clean of assault pods prior to departure. “Prepare to transmit the pre-recorded message as soon as we enter our long-range missile envelope.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  Roman forced himself to relax. It was vanishingly unlikely that seven destroyers — six now — would put up a fight, not against the immensity of his fleet. They’d be incredibly lucky to score a single hit before they were blown to atoms. But if the ships were commanded by loyalists, they’d do anything for their Emperor. Roman himself would have done anything for Emperor Marius, once upon a time. Now...

  The man you knew is gone, he told himself, sternly. And in his place, there’s a monster.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “We’re entering missile range.”

  “Transmit the message,” Roman ordered. “And then prep the courier drones for launch.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  Roman glanced at the fleet’s status display and braced himself. Fifth Fleet had been through hell under his command, building up a level of experience and esprit de corps that few other Federation formations could claim, but it had never really anticipated having to turn on the admiral who’d led the Federation Navy to victory over Admiral Justinian. Roman couldn’t help but think that they’d lost something of their innocence, even though he knew that the prospects for civil war had been looming before Admiral Justinian had attacked Earth. His crews had signed up to keep humanity safe, not fight wars against their fellow humans...

  “The destroyers have jumped back through the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “They made no attempt to reply.”

  Loyalists, then, Roman thought. He wouldn’t have deigned to reply, if he’d still been a loyalist himself. And that means we may have to fight our way into the system.

  “Launch the drones,” he ordered. “And then take us straight towards the Asimov Point. It’s time to jump into the fire.”

  And hope to hell we don’t get burned, he thought, grimly. Because even a successful assault on the system will cost us dearly.

  * * *

  Commodore Hassan Palin had the uneasy feeling he’d been staked out, like a goat, to lure a tiger into a trap. He and a handful of his men, scattered through the vast fortress, were the only men truly loyal to the Emperor in the system. Boston belonged to Admiral Garibaldi, he’d discovered in the two days he’d spent as system commander, and even though Garibaldi had been declared a traitor many were still loyal to him. He was grimly aware that stationing armored troopers throughout the station might be the only thing that was preventing a mutiny and keeping him alive.

  I wish there was time to bring more crews up from the Core Worlds, he thought, although he knew reinforcements weren’t going to arrive before it was too late. Even if the Federation hadn’t concentrated on building starships and training their crews, there were just too many other demands on Fortress Command’s tiny reserve of trained manpower. And additional warships to ensure the system remains loyal.

  Hassan sighed to himself as he sat back in his command chair in the CIC, watching the destroyers as they snapped back into existence. He’d done everything he could to ensure the defenders remained loyal — and that any who remained disloyal had no chance to interfere — but he knew it wasn’t good enough. The prospect of having a knife slipped into his back by one of his officers was all too real. Hell, it had been hard enough to disarm the majority of the crew before they did something stupid. Fortresses had been boarded before, during the war, and unarmed crewmen were just lambs to the slaughter. But again, there had been no choice.

  “Commodore, the remaining destroyers have transited,” Lieutenant Commander Rollins said, quietly. She was young, so young he thought she should still be at the academy, but it wasn’t uncommon for talented youngsters to rise rapidly in the ranks these days. And her tone was barely on the right side of insubordination. “Fifth Fleet is approaching the Asimov Point.”

  “Bring the defenders to red alert, stand by to engage,” Hassan ordered. If they triggered off the first shots, the crews would likely find themselves fighting desperately to save their lives, even if they were on Garibaldi’s side. “Slave the command datanet to this fortress and override commands from the other fortresses.”

  “Aye, sir,” Rollins said. Her back was stiff, her tone resentful. “Command datanet engaged.”

  Hassan glowered at her back. He could have her taken out and shot, yet that would almost certainly spark a mutiny. Unarmed the crews might be — although he suspected the sweep hadn’t found all the weapons — but they weren’t helpless. All he could do was hope to push them into the fight before they found a way to overthrow him.

  He blinked in surprise as the first courier drones popped into existence, transmitting their message as soon as their systems recovered from the brief transit. A moment later, he realized what the enemy commander had in mind. He was deliberately signaling his loyalists, inviting them — begging them — to take a stand against the Emperor. It could not be tolerated.

  “Order the CSP to take those drones out,” he snapped. There was no point in wasting single-shot automated weapons platforms on the drones. “Now!”

  “Aye, sir,” Rollins said. Her hand danced over her console. “CSP has been informed...”

  She broke off as red icons flickered onto the display, each one representing an enemy superdreadnaught. For a moment, Hassan could only stare in disbelief. Admiral Garibaldi was sending the superdreadnaughts through the Asimov Point too quickly, running the risk of two or more of his ships colliding or interpenetrating. He had to be out of his mind... even if the fortress crews refused to engage his ships, the automated weapons systems would have no such hesitation.

  He keyed his console, ordering the automated systems and minefields to engage. Let Admiral Garibaldi get slapped back, let him come in shooting. Hassan’s crews would have no choice, but to fight to save their lives. He smiled, darkly, as the enemy superdreadnaughts began to vanish, their shields still too weak to save them from the bombardment. And yet, more and more of them were appearing... he might just win the new civil war in one fell swoop.

  “Order the fortresses to open fire,” he ordered. The inner minefields had been almost completely expended, while the automated weapons platforms were recharging. And yet, the enemy were still sending superdreadnaughts though the Asimov Point. “Take them out...”

  It struck him a second later, as yet another superdreadnaught blinked into existence. If he went by sensor records alone, his forces had killed over fifty superdreadnaughts, a loss rate that no sane commander could afford. And yet, he knew Admiral Garibaldi didn’t have more than seven squadrons of superdreadnaughts, assuming his engineering crews had worked miracles. Admiral Garibaldi had just thrown away over a hundred thousand lives...

  ... Or had he?

  The Outsiders had produced a fleet, he suspected, that was nothing more than ECM drones... and Admiral Garibaldi had allied with the Outsiders. He checked the sensor readings himself, looking for the by-products of destroyed ships. There was nothing, nothing at all. It was possible, he supposed, that antimatter warheads simply hadn’t left very much for his sensors to detect, but there should have been some debris. They’d been conned.

  He swore, savagely. Admiral Garibaldi had pulled a fast one...

  ... And now, his only reliable defense systems had been completely wasted.

  * * *

  “The drones have reported back, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “They’ve cleared the enemy minefields and automated defenses.”

  Roman nodded, grimly. Using the ECM drones had been yet another gamble, but one he’d been fairly sure would work. The
prospect of blowing apart a stream of superdreadnaughts, one by one, had been simply too great a chance to miss. And besides, only an idiot would risk allowing a superdreadnaught to start opening fire at what was, effectively, point-blank range. The enemy commander, whoever he was, had done everything by the book — and still been thoroughly screwed.

  “The fortresses,” he said. “Have they opened fire?”

  “Their fire is slack, apparently,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “But they may just have been relying on the automated weapons and the CSP.”

  “All right,” Roman said. “Send in the first wave, Lieutenant.”

  He took a breath. If the fortresses had decided to oppose him, most — perhaps all — of the first wave of actual starships were doomed, even if they were escorted by yet more ECM drones to soak up enemy fire. He’d briefed the crews carefully, warning them not to target any fortresses that didn’t fire on them first, but he knew it was asking for trouble. At point-blank range, a fortress could switch from friendly to unfriendly in a split second and the first his crews would know of it would be when the missiles started slamming into their shields. And the fortresses fired heavier missiles than anything smaller than a superdreadnaught...

  Please, God, he thought, with a grim earnestness he hadn’t felt since he’d been a very small child. Please let this work.

  * * *

  “Another wave of starships has arrived,” Rollins said. “A number of superdreadnaughts, but also cruisers and destroyers.”

  Hassan sucked in his breath. He was almost sure the superdreadnaughts were nothing more than sensor ghosts — according to the sensors, they’d destroyed Fifth Fleet’s entire superdreadnaught strength twice over — but if he was wrong...

  “Target the cruisers and destroyers,” he ordered. They, too, might be there to do little more than soak up his fire, but he couldn’t afford to ignore them. “External racks only; I say again, external racks only.”

  “Aye, sir,” Rollins said. “Firing now...”