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

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Very well,” Li said. “But only when I’m on the ground. I don’t have anything to fear on the ships.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Throughout human history, logistics have been the bane of military operations. Thus the saying "amateurs study tactics; professionals study logistics." This was unfortunately true for the Federation Navy, a problem made worse by poor contingency planning and excessive reliance on a network of bases rather than supply ships.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Ruthven, 4102

  “Happy New Year,” Elf said.

  Roman allowed himself a smile as she pinned him to the bed, pushing herself down on him as she leaned down and kissed his lips. The fleet couldn’t allow itself more than a brief pause for New Year — a holiday celebrated throughout the Federation — but he could, just for a few minutes, relax and enjoy himself. Their love-making was a reminder, in some ways, that there was a world beyond the war, even if they would never have been thrust together without it. How long had it been since they’d first met on Enterprise?

  “Happy New Year to you too,” Roman said, as his head filled with all the problems and concerns that had bothered him over the last two weeks. He pushed them aside with an effort and smiled. “Do you have anything planned?”

  Elf elbowed him, none too gently. “Only dinner with you and the... others,” she said. The fleet’s senior officers had planned a dinner, followed by a conference. “How about you?”

  “Nothing too serious,” Roman said. He shook his head as he sat upright. “There are just too many things to do.”

  “Supply problems still worrying you?”

  “Just a little,” Roman said.

  He scowled. Supply problems worried him a great deal, and she knew it. The enemy had had a remarkable stroke of luck when one of their battlecruisers intercepted a convoy running through Alexis and blown all four freighters into flaming debris, along with their escorts. Roman would have cheerfully strangled the convoy CO himself, if he hadn’t died in the brief engagement. The idiot could have avoided the encounter if he’d followed SOP and deployed drones to sweep space ahead of him for traps.

  “We can’t go back on the offensive until we receive more assault pods,” he said. “The defenses around Marble are formidable, but the defenses around Tara Prime are worse.”

  “True,” Elf agreed. “No wonder weapons on the way?”

  Roman shook his head, then stood and hurried into the shower. There wasn’t enough time to chat with her, to relax... he cursed, inwardly, as he turned on the water. He was far too young to be an admiral, even if the wars had eliminated most of the deadwood in high command. There were just too many issues he had to handle on the fly.

  At least I have a working staff, he thought. He’d picked his officers carefully, judging them by competence rather than loyalty. It was something, weirdly enough, that he’d picked up from Marius Drake. And we’re learning the ropes as we go along.

  Elf joined him in the shower; Roman picked up a sponge and washed her back, then turned to allow her to return the favor. It felt wrong, somehow, to be enjoying himself with her, even though he knew it was unlikely that any of his crew who wanted companionship would be deprived. The last two months had seen thousands of his people rotated through the spaceport on Ruthven, allowing them to have at least some shore leave. Roman had fretted at the time, fearing kidnap or worse, but there had only been a handful of minor incidents, mainly over the value of their money. The Federation Credit had been declining in value over the last decade, and it showed. And no other currency was considered acceptable.

  Because the Grand Senate refused to allow local systems to establish their own currencies, he thought, as he stepped back out of the shower. He didn’t pretend to understand economics — as a science, it seemed woefully imprecise — but it was easy enough to see the problems it caused. And because no one knows if Earth will pay its debts.

  He dressed slowly, then checked the daily fleet update as he waited for Elf. There was nothing of great significance, save for a report from a starship patroling the edge of the system that it had detected another starship dropping out of stardrive and vanishing into cloak. Roman wasn’t too surprised. The Federation Navy’s raiders had been probing the edge of the system ever since he’d taken it, watching and waiting for a sign of weakness. It would be a long time coming.

  Nothing to be done about it, he thought, nodding to Elf. She’d donned her dress blacks, accompanied by a medal she’d won during one of the more intensive battles of the Justinian War. All we can do is keep our guard up and wait for them to show themselves.

  The ship’s cooks, he discovered as he entered the officer’s lounge, had outdone themselves in their efforts to make a proper dinner. Traditionally, New Year was celebrated with roast turkey and all the trimmings, which they’d sourced from the planet below and cooked in the galley. Roman nodded politely to Chang Li and General Stuart, then turned to greet his captains as they joined him. It was odd, and yet heartening, to realize that the Outsiders shared so many of the Federation’s customs.

  “We are all human,” Chang Li said, when he commented on it. “And besides, New Year is a nice politically-correct holiday.”

  “One we can all agree on,” General Stuart added. “Although, of course, we don’t agree on what date marks the turning of the year.”

  Roman smiled, although he’d grappled with the problem himself as a young officer. The planetary year was different for each planet; Earth might have 365 days in the year, but Mars had 687. Just to complicate matters, the Martian day was longer than an Earth day, which meant that the Martians counted a year as 669 days. The Federation had solved the problem by decreeing that the galactic standards would take their cue from Earth, but even so there was a great deal of confusion. He was surprised the system had worked as well as it had.

  I suppose the First Interstellar War showed us the value of having a united system, he thought, as the conversation turned to other matters. Having the Snakes breathing down our necks must have concentrated a few minds.

  “The war won’t last forever,” Chang Li commented. “What do you plan to do, Admiral Garibaldi, after the war?”

  Roman shrugged. “I’ve spent my entire adult life in the navy,” he said. It struck him, suddenly, that Marius Drake had done the same. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable anywhere else. Taking a survey ship and seeing what’s out there... maybe that’s what I’d want to do.”

  He smiled. “How about yourself?”

  “I always planned to retire to Nova Athena,” Chang Li said. “But someone really needs to be the ambassador at large for the Outsiders.”

  “Speak for yourself,” General Stuart grunted, curtly. He took a sip of his wine as he leaned forward. “I plan to retire, after the war, and spend the rest of my life somewhere nicely isolated. The rest of the galaxy can go amuse itself without me.”

  Roman blinked. “You’d be happier living on a planet?”

  “I’d prefer not to live in a place where an air leak would be enough to kill me,” General Stuart said. “I can see the value of raising one’s children in such an environment, but I don’t agree with the logic.”

  “He has a point,” Elf agreed. Roman gave her a surprised look. “Stupidity killing wouldn’t be so bad if it was only the stupid person who got killed.”

  He did have a point, Roman conceded, reluctantly. Roman had grown up in an environment where the slightest mistake could get someone killed, teaching him what was important from a very early age. But his mistakes could easily get someone else killed along with him, no matter what precautions were worked into the system. It hardly seemed right. And yet, growing up in a cocoon of safety explained a great deal about the Grand Senate’s odder decisions. They were completely insulated from the reality of the universe surrounding them.

  “I suppose,” he said, shortly.

  They reached the end of the dinner without incident, although Roman was careful
to avoid the traditional toast to the Grand Senate, the Federation Navy, and the Federation Constitution. One was gone, one was torn asunder and one had been used as nothing more than toilet paper for generations. Indeed, he had to admit that the Outsiders were more faithful to the Constitution than the Grand Senate. But then, they’d never had the opportunity to gain wealth and power by violating it.

  “The supply problem has yet to be solved,” he said, once the stewards had cleared away the table and produced after-dinner drinks and chocolates. “We cannot advance towards Marble until we have a ready supply of assault pods.”

  “I would have thought you had enough,” Chang Li commented.

  “It isn’t just Marble that’s the problem,” General Stuart explained, quietly. “We’d need to press on to Tara Prime as quickly as possible, rather than wait for the freighters to bring us more assault pods.”

  “And we’d need a huge reserve, just in case we run into something we can’t handle,” Roman added. “Astrid and Maben aren’t heavily defended — or weren’t, according to the last set of updates we received — but Tara Prime definitely is. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d received reinforcements by now. The Emperor knows his best chance to stop us short of the Gateway is at Tara Prime.”

  “You youngsters have it easy,” Kratman observed. “In my day, we charged through Asimov Points, all guns blazing.”

  “That would explain the high casualty rates,” Roman commented, mischievously. He wouldn’t have dared say that, back when they’d been professor and student. “How many people died during the Inheritance Wars?”

  “Millions,” Kratman said, simply. Without assault pods, the only way to win was to send hundreds of small starships through the Asimov Points and tolerate truly staggering loss rates. “In sheer numbers, Roman, it beat every other war ever fought by humanity. But in frightfulness... the First Interstellar War still has the edge.”

  Roman nodded in agreement. He was used to aliens — or, at least, he’d grown up in a universe where aliens were common. But for the humans who’d discovered the Graveyard, who’d eventually made first contact with the Snakes, it must have been a terrifying shock. And they’d believed, for reasons that had never made sense to him, that aliens had to be peaceful as well as civilized. Surely, a single look at humanity itself would have put the lie to that.

  “This war may grow worse,” Chang Li said. “What happens if the Emperor starts scorching worlds at random?”

  “I don’t think he will,” Roman said, although he wasn’t entirely sure he was right. No rational mind would start destroying entire worlds, if only because it would be terrifyingly easy for the Outsiders to retaliate in kind, but Emperor Marius had already tried to cross that line once. “There are officers who would mutiny rather than carry out such an order.”

  “Don’t underestimate how easy it can be to convince someone to violate their morals,” Kratman warned, sternly. “Many of the worst people in history, Roman, didn’t see themselves as monsters. They came up with elaborate justifications for carrying out vile atrocities just to escape the awareness of what they’d done.”

  He shrugged. “And there’s no shortage of sociopaths to be found on Earth,” he added. “I sometimes think the planet breeds them.”

  “It’s easy to lose your concern for others if others show no concern for you,” Elf offered, darkly. “What sort of life does the average person on Earth lead?”

  Roman shuddered. He’d heard stories, of course, although the only time he’d been to Earth had been after the end of the Justinian War. Earth was a nightmare, he’d been told, even though the Grand Senate had feted the planet as the cultural and industrial heart of the Federation. But then, he’d seen some of the art that came from Earth and it had turned his stomach. He liked to think of himself as a broad-minded man — growing up on an asteroid was a good way to learn to mind your own business — but some things were just disgusting.

  He cleared his throat. “Be that as it may, we need to press forward as soon as possible,” he insisted. “We don’t, as yet, have any up-to-date intelligence on Tara Prime.”

  Chang Li frowned. “There were no updates here?”

  “The defenders purged their databases before retreating,” Roman said. It was understandable, but irritating. Officers had been put in front of a court martial board and then shot for allowing intact databases to fall into enemy hands. “The data we have is four months out of date.”

  He scowled. The Federation’s vast stockpile of prefabricated fortresses had been drained by the demands of the war, but Emperor Marius should have had no problems moving the remainder to Tara Prime. Unless, of course, he had his doubts about Admiral Vincent. But if he had, Roman was sure, Marius would have removed Vincent by now. Indeed, he might have done so already, leaving someone else in his place. There was no way to know.

  “We do have some tactical information from Marble, but nothing through the Asimov Points in the system,” he added. “There’s no way to know what’s lurking in the systems between Marble and Tara Prime. They may assume we will take the shortest route to Tara Prime... or they might be keeping ships in reserve at Tara Prime, ready to intercept us once they know our likely course.”

  “Chancy,” General Stuart observed. “They’d be better off aiming to fight a decisive battle at Tara Prime.”

  Roman nodded in agreement. Trying to be tactically clever was one thing, but trying to be clever on an interstellar scale — as had been drummed into him from his first day at the Academy — was quite another. Marius Drake — the Marius Drake he remembered — would know better than to over-commit himself. Better to force Roman to assault Tara Prime, where the defenders held most of the cards, than risk a running battle in the outer systems.

  And yet...

  “The Emperor may not agree with us, though,” he said. “It depends on just how far he trusts Admiral Vincent.”

  Chang Li leaned forward. “He hasn’t sent you any reply?”

  “None,” Roman said. “But then, there would be a very real risk of any message being intercepted.”

  He wasn’t too surprised at the silence, as irritating as it was. The files hadn’t been too detailed, but Admiral Vincent wouldn’t have been appointed to Tara Prime if he hadn’t been considered reliable. Admiral Justinian had been given control of a similar system and he’d launched a rebellion that had nearly brought the Federation to its knees. If Emperor Marius had the slightest doubt over Vincent’s loyalty, Roman was sure, he would have been summoned home and brutally executed.

  Unless he’s too strong to be cowed easily, Roman thought. Or...

  He shook his head, dismissing the thought as he turned his attention to other matters. “If the most recent update holds true,” he said, “we should have a stockpile of assault pods by the end of next week. At that time, unless the situation changes, I intend to cross the interstellar gulf and attack Marble. We’ll proceed from there as the situation dictates.”

  General Stuart snorted. “Do I assume you don’t intend to move down the shortest route to Tara Prime?”

  “It depends on what we find when we get there,” Roman said, patiently. He closed his eyes for a long moment, recalling the starchart. “They may have rigged up defenses in Astrid or Maben, General. We may find it a better idea to proceed via an alternate route.”

  Chang Li gave him a sharp look. “Do you believe they will have rigged up defenses?”

  “We were bringing forts online at the rate of one per week, back when we were setting up the defenses of Boston,” Roman said. “Fortress Command is very experienced in unloading a freighter full of prefabricated components, then slotting them together and building a working fortress. They’re nowhere near as complex as starships, true, but still...”

  He shrugged. “I expect minefields and automated weapons platforms, at the very least,” he added. “Anything they can do to slow us down and force us to expend assault pods will be considered worthwhile.”

  “True,” Ge
neral Stuart agreed. “But you might also get bogged down.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Roman acknowledged, coolly. “But it’s also possible that we will get to our destination fast enough to beat the Emperor’s reinforcements.”

  He keyed his console, activating the starchart. “There’s only one gulf between Tara Prime and Earth,” he said. “It won’t take longer than two weeks to get a message from Tara Prime to Earth, once we attack Marble. I imagine, General, that Emperor Marius will send reinforcements, if he hasn’t already. He may even come himself.”

  The intercom chimed. “Admiral, this is Sanderson at Tactical,” a voice said. “A courier boat has just entered the system and announced itself. Her passenger is requesting permission to speak to you personally.”

  Roman frowned. “Who is the passenger?”

  “It doesn’t say,” Sanderson said. “But the courier boat’s IFF places it as one of the ships attached to Tara Prime.”

  “Have the vessel boarded and searched,” Roman ordered, after a moment. A ship from Tara Prime could be very good news... or a potential disaster in the making. “Once it’s confirmed safe, have the passenger transhipped to Valiant.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sanderson said.

  Elf frowned as the connection broke. “Who could this be?”

  “I don’t know,” Roman admitted. “But I think we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Naturally, as respect for the ideals of the Federation decreased, individual officers started to look to their own power rather than their duty. Indeed, despite the lesson of Admiral Justinian, the lure of supreme power remained strong. Why not? Marius Drake had made himself Emperor.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199