There was a long pause. Only five fortresses opened fire.
Hassan came to his feet. “Report,” he snapped. He had an awful feeling that he already knew. “What happened?”
“The remaining fortresses have isolated themselves from the command network,” Rollins said. There was an edge of amusement in her voice as she glanced up at him. “They did not receive the command to fire.”
Or they chose to ignore it, Hassan thought. By isolating themselves from the datanet, the mutineers had crippled his defense plan. The chances of victory had gone downhill and crashed into rubble. The bastards...
He unsnapped his holster and drew his sidearm, pointing it straight at Rollins’s head. Her face paled, noticeably, as he made a show of clicking off the safety. She would have spent time in the shooting range, of course — naval regulations demanded that crewmen know how to clean and fire their weapons — but she probably wouldn’t have actually seen a weapon used in combat, let alone have one pointed right at her. Chances were, she still thought of warfare as something nicely bloodless. The blood and guts of an infantry battlefield would chill her to the bone.
“Target the treacherous fortresses,” he ordered. There was no hope of stopping Admiral Garibaldi now, nor was there any real chance of escape. All he could really do was claw the enemy good and proper before he was killed. “Target them or I’ll blow your head off, right here and now.”
Rollins stared at him, her mouth moving soundlessly. Hassan felt an odd flush of exhilaration, mixed with a strange horror that chilled him to the bone. What sort of monster had he become? What sort of monsters had they all become? He’d been in the navy for twenty years and he had never had to threaten one of his crewmembers with death before, even during the early stages of the Justinian War. But now, he saw no choice.
“Do it,” he hissed, willing her to believe. He was ready to kill her, if necessary. “Do...”
The power failed. Hassan watched in horror as the displays faded to darkness, the emergency lights coming on barely in time to keep the compartment from plunging into darkness. He clutched his pistol tightly as the artificial gravity failed, unsure what to do now that the entire battle had been lost. His troopers had clearly failed to prevent sabotage on a terrifying scale.
“It’s over, sir,” Rollins said. There was a hint of panic in her voice. Her face was pale as she clung to her seat, using one hand to strap herself down. Normally, few bothered to strap themselves into their chairs, no matter what regulations said. Now, with gravity gone, the logic behind the regs made sense. “Give up. I’m sure the Admiral won’t treat you badly.”
Hassan glared at her, but he knew she was right. Without main power, the fortress was a sitting duck. Even if reinforcements were dispatched from Boston, or the other Asimov Points, there was no hope of them arriving in time to save the day. All he could do was stand down and hope Admiral Garibaldi wasn’t feeling merciless. There was nothing to be gained by trying to fight any longer.
“Very well,” he said, snapping his pistol’s safety catch back on. The shock of the motion sent him drifting upwards. “I hope you have a way to contact him, though. How is he going to know we’ve surrendered?”
He felt a flicker of pride as he bounced off the overhead and pushed himself back to the deck. It had been years since he’d had to work in a null-gee environment. Gravity was often the last thing to fail, along with the internal compensators; normally, the ship taking such a beating meant certain destruction. But now... he just hoped the mutineers did have a way to raise Admiral Garibaldi. The shields were down, the point defense was offline... a handful of antimatter warheads would be more than enough to blow the station into atoms, armor or no armor.
“We do,” Rollins assured him. She watched him take a firm hold of the command chair, then produced a small marine-issue communicator from her belt. The mutiny had clearly been planned in advance. “And I’m sure he will be very relieved to hear from us.”
Hassan snorted. He didn’t know what Admiral Garibaldi might think, but he knew precisely what Marius Drake would think. There was no room for failures in his universe...
... And if Hassan fell into the Emperor’s hands, his life would be worth less than nothing.
Chapter Seven
And the wave of mutinies that ran through the Federation Navy, as the ties that bound crewmen to the Federation finally snapped, did a thorough job of ripping the fleet’s unity apart.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Boston, 4101
“The fortresses have been secured,” Elf reported, through the intercom. “We’ve taken seventy-five prisoners, all troopers and officers off-loaded from the 345th Battlecruiser Squadron. Commodore Palin has surrendered himself into our hands.”
“Have them moved to the superdreadnaughts and held for the moment,” Roman ordered. Thankfully, the fortress crews had mutinied. If they hadn’t, he knew things would have been a great deal harder. “Ask Palin if he’s willing to broadcast a stand-down signal to the rest of the system.”
“Palin has refused to talk,” Elf said. “But Lieutenant Rollins, one of the ringleaders of the mutiny, insists that the loyalists didn’t try to dominate the planet. They just didn’t have the manpower.”
“Understood,” Roman said. He was surprised the Emperor hadn’t tried to make a stand, although if he had the war would have ended very quickly. Or would he have been better at appealing to the loyalty of Roman’s crews? “What happened to the Emperor himself?”
“Left the system two days ago,” Elf said. “He took the replenishment ships with him.”
Roman swore. Emperor Marius hadn’t missed a trick. He’d taken the ships Roman needed to give pursuit. His ships would need to be repaired and replenished at Boston, rather than on the way to a final confrontation. The Emperor had won himself far too much time.
“Understood,” he said, again. “Have Lieutenant Rollins shipped over to Valiant, then see to it that the fortresses are secured. We may need to relocate them to the other Asimov Points.”
He closed the connection, then looked at Lieutenant Thompson. “Send the pre-planned signal to Boston and the other Asimov Point defenders,” he said. “And to the 345th Battlecruiser Squadron, too. Tell them to decide which side they’re on.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman nodded. The 345th Battlecruiser Squadron would probably refuse to join him, but her new commander wouldn’t be able to run the gauntlet of the fortresses to pass through one of the other Asimov Points. Her only real hope of survival would be to head out beyond the system limits and drop into stardrive, rendering herself largely irrelevant for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, her CO decided it would be better if he skulked around the edge of the system and awaited a chance to do the rebels some real harm. It would be a major headache for Roman if the enemy commander ever got the chance.
But, for the moment, a single squadron of battlecruisers was a very minor problem.
“Set course for Boston,” he ordered. “Best possible speed.”
He sucked in his breath sharply, cursing — not for the first time — the speed of light delay. At best, assuming she responded at once, it would be at least four hours before he received a reply from Commodore Yu. There was no way to be sure what he would encounter on the planet, no way to be certain that the Emperor’s goons hadn’t already started to prepare a trap... hell, there was no way to be sure that Yu hadn’t started to prepare a trap herself. Roman had been too young to be implicated in any of the Grand Senate’s witch-hunts, after Admiral Justinian had betrayed the Federation, but he thought he understood how they’d felt. It was impossible to know just who to trust.
Fighting the Outsiders was a great deal easier, he thought, as he forced himself to relax and study the display. Thankfully, it didn’t look as though the Emperor had bombarded the planet or its industries before fleeing through the Asimov Point... although trying would probably have doomed his entire fleet.
Back then, we knew who was on what side.
“The 345th Battlecruiser Squadron has refused to respond to hails,” Lieutenant Thompson informed him. “They’re altering course and heading out of the system. The remainder of the system defense force has signaled that it wishes to join us.”
“Tell them to rendezvous with us at Boston,” Roman said. It didn’t look as though the Emperor had had time to turn a few of his officers, but it was impossible — again — to be entirely sure. Civil wars were nightmares. “And inform me if there’s a response from Commodore Yu.”
It took nearly four hours for a response to arrive. “Admiral Garibaldi, Commodore Palin informed me that you had turned traitor,” Commodore Yu’s recorded message said. “I did not believe him, but I was in no place to intervene in his plans to meet you when you returned to the system. I’m very relieved that you have successfully entered the system and wish to inform you that Boston is firmly under control. The repair yards remain intact and will be ready to work on your ships as soon as you arrive.”
Roman relaxed, slightly. It could still be a trick.
“Record,” he ordered. “Commodore Yu, this is Admiral Garibaldi. Thank you for your welcome to the system. We should enter orbit in” — he glanced at the console — “five hours from this message. Please have a full report ready for me when I arrive.”
He sent the message, then checked the datapacket Yu had sent along with the recorded message. There had been a handful of slow-downs on the planet’s surface, but other than that there had been almost no activity at all. The Emperor, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to land troops, although he’d had no reason to expect trouble. Boston knew it was on the front lines of a war.
And now it’s on the front lines of another war, he thought, as he looked up at the planet’s icon on the display. Who knows which way the planet’s population will jump?
* * *
“It’s good to see you again, Admiral,” Commodore Sonia Yu said, once she’d been welcomed onboard Valiant and shown into Roman’s quarters. “I must confess that the Emperor tricked me.”
“It’s understandable,” Roman assured her, as she took the seat he indicated. He poured them both a mug of coffee, then sat down facing her. “I suspect I would have done the same myself.”
It was hard to be so generous, but he had to admit that Commodore Yu had had no reason to suspect trouble, let alone refuse orders from her lawful superior. Losing the replenishment ships was a major headache, but one he’d have to cope with. She might expect to be relieved of her post, if not taken out and shot, but he was certainly not going to have her executed for a simple mistake. It would set a very bad precedent.
Commodore Yu relaxed, slightly. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I didn’t expect to have to... to decide which side to support.”
“Nor did I,” Roman said. He looked up, meeting her eyes. “And are you sure you want to stay on my side? You could go into an internment camp on Boston, if you wish.”
“I want to stay with you, sir,” Commodore Yu said.
Roman wished, suddenly, that he could read minds. Did Commodore Yu feel loyalty to him and his fleet? Did she feel that genocide was beyond the pale? Did she think him the certain victor of the coming war? Or did she merely want to keep her power and position? It was the one question he knew he couldn’t ask.
“Very well,” he said. There hadn’t been any resistance on Boston when his fleet had arrived and the marines secured the orbital defenses, then the shipyards. “Give me a status report, please.”
“The Emperor took the replenishment ships, but he made no attempt to capture or destroy our shipyards and our vast stockpiles of spare parts,” Commodore Yu said. There was a hint of pride in her voice. She’d battled logistics problems on a scale unseen since the Inheritance Wars and done a very good job. “Our manpower levels remain untouched. I believe that repairing the majority of your ships will take no more than a month.”
She paused. “The bad news is that we stripped ourselves clean of assault pods and other such weapons, sir,” she added. “Replenishing them may take more than a couple of months, at best.”
Roman cursed the irony under his breath. He’d signed off on transferring all of the assault pods to the fleet, knowing they’d be necessary for the advance on Nova Athena. For once, they would have the Outsiders in a place where they would have to fight or give ground, allowing him to bring the sheer mass of Fifth Fleet to bear against them. But, given everything that had happened since, it had been a terrible mistake. Two months... what could the Emperor do in two months? His imagination provided too many answers.
And if it’s longer than two months, we may have some real problems, he thought. Our logistics are going to be fragile for a very long time to come.
“Then get started on replenishing the assault pods,” he ordered. It was annoying, but there was no point crying over spilt milk. “What about the picket forces?”
“None have been informed of the... changing situation,” Commodore Yu told him. “The 432nd Heavy Cruiser Squadron passed through two weeks ago for replenishment and then headed back to her patrol grounds.”
Roman shook his head in tired disbelief. Thanks to the crazed laws of interstellar war, forces nominally under his command might be attacking the Outsiders for weeks to come, even though he’d come to an agreement with the Outsiders. He hoped they’d be understanding, when the reports finally came in; they’d understand, wouldn’t they, that he couldn’t call his ships back at once?
“Send a handful of courier boats to alert them and order an immediate return to Boston,” he ordered. The Outsiders would have the same problem, but almost all of the systems that had changed hands in the last few years were useless, at least in the short term. They certainly couldn’t give their holder a new fleet of starships. “Tell them to avoid contact with the Outsiders as much as possible and, if they do get detected, break contact if they can.”
He winced at his own words. Cruiser commanders were taught to be aggressive, all the more so in the midst of a war. None of them would appreciate being told to avoid contact with the enemy, particularly when they’d been given orders to press their advantage where possible, but they’d obey. He hoped. It would be hard for many of them to accept an alliance with the Outsiders, yet it would be harder if there were a string of incidents that looked like mutual treachery and backstabbing...
“Yes, sir,” Commodore Yu said. She took a breath. “The majority of the fleet train remains intact, sir, but we are still quite short on freighters. Supplying the offensive pushed us to our limits.”
“We should be able to get more freighters from the Outsiders,” Roman said. He didn’t know if he could trust them completely, but he saw no other choice. “They won’t be configured for naval service, though.”
“We have workarounds in place, already,” Commodore Yu assured him. “I’ve been pressing captured freighters into service for years.”
Roman nodded, and turned to look at the strategic display. It was at least two months out of date — more, perhaps, given that Earth had been several months out of date when the information had been compiled — but it told a grim story. Emperor Marius, falling back towards Earth, could gather a formidable mobile force to challenge Roman, while using fixed defenses to slow his advance. There was no way to circumvent them either, no matter what Roman did. He’d committed himself to at least four assaults through Asimov Points he knew to be heavily defended.
Unless...
He studied the display for a long moment, thinking hard. There was a way to avoid contact with those defended Asimov Points, but it would be risky. Risky as hell. He’d have to fight his way across half the Federation, just to find a place where he could cross interstellar space and attack Earth through the Dead End, Earth’s second Asimov Point. It was tempting, but the more he looked at it, the more he saw the weaknesses. His fleet would be running short on supplies by the time it finally reached its destination, while the Emperor would have pl
enty of time to prepare his defenses and cut Roman off at the knees. No, the only true hope of victory was to complete those assaults as fast as possible.
“Admiral?”
He blinked, remembering Commodore Yu. “Yes?”
“There’s one other detail that should be brought to your attention,” Commodore Yu said, carefully. “Before he left, the Emperor issued a search warrant for Professor Kratman, an APB demanding his arrest and extradition to Earth under federal law.”
Roman stared at her. “Professor Kratman?”
“He vanished — or, at least, there’s no trace of him on the planet’s surface from a point two weeks after the fleet’s departure,” Commodore Yu said. “The planetary police have been attempting to locate him, as per request, but without success. He’s dropped out of sight completely.”
“Then he took a ship out of the system,” Roman said.
“I don’t think so,” Commodore Yu said. “We did check, but there’s no trace of Professor Kratman passing through any of the orbital chokepoints before boarding an interstellar ship and departing the system. A smuggler might be better at getting him off the planet without passing through any of the chokepoints, yet it would have to be an incredibly brave smuggler...”
“True,” Roman agreed. Boston hadn’t quite entered lockdown, but all ships arriving and departing the planet had been carefully scrutinized. Quite a number had been caught with military-grade sensor suites they shouldn’t have had, unless they were spies. “You think he’s still here?”
“I believe so,” Commodore Yu said. “This isn’t an uninhabitable world, sir. A careful person could live off the grid, without being detected, for quite some time. There’s been a black market in everything from living goods to luxury items ever since the war began. I believe, sir, that farmers have been producing more foodstuffs than they’ve bothered to report and selling the surplus on the black market.”
Which is why I never liked living on a planetary surface, Roman thought. It’s so... disorganized.
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 7
